The Devil You Know
by kimmary
Summary: Set end S6: It's been four months, but Ziva has been found and returned to the States. Will things ever be the same again - will she? And when it comes down to the wire, can Tony make the hardest decison of his life? Finally updated!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of NCIS, or the story lines that I cannibalize to set the scene for my own story. I do, however, lay claim to my own imagination and musings**…

A/N: Yes… I know – so many of these. But, this is my take on things and I wanted to get this story out before the season premier. And, have you noticed something? Gibbs' little sojourn to Mexico – four months; the team was split up, four months; which is kind of where I got the idea from. Hope you enjoy and please let me know if you want to see more – 'cos I have the whole story in my head, that will (hopefully) play out differently to the other stories, and which I would love to share with you.

**Chapter one: Four months**

Three pm. The time his life changed. He remembers glancing at his watch shortly after he heard the words drip out of Gibbs' mouth. A force of habit really, rather than conscious thought.

At 2.59, he was the same as he had always been, the overgrown frat boy who was trying to find his way, but at 3pm – it all changed.

At 3pm, he became responsible, honorable and strong. At 3pm, he lost the dejected, heartbroken being he had become, and instead, stood tall, shoulders broad, his back straightened. This, he thinks, he can do something about, will do something about. This is his time.

* * *

It has been four months to the day since they left her in her homeland, standing on the Israeli tarmac. Questions in her eyes, as the warm sun beat down on them.

They hadn't spoken since she tripped him up outside the glass building, rage burning hot as she pulled her gun, the words ripping from her mouth unbidden, uncensored, as she pushed the loaded weapon first against his heart and then against his knee.

Did she realize what she had done in that single action? As she marched away, the determined, dedicated soldier she was, he pulled himself into a sitting position, catching sight of his reflection in the mocking reflective panels. Dozens of his own image stared back at him, his dejected, humiliated, broken form - and they took pity on him.

He didn't say good bye to her, he didn't know she was staying. Just picked up his bag, made some inappropriate comment that he knew would offend, and once he was sure that his outward armor was still intact, he marched towards the open carrier.

It was only as he sunk into the jump seat, did he allow himself the staggering breath that he had been holding since their arrival in Israel the day previously. He didn't know then that she wasn't coming home. Just expected she would. Didn't question it at all, really. And he laughed at his own absurdity that he couldn't rationalize she wouldn't come home with him, that she was home already.

* * *

It's been four months since Gibbs looked deep into Ziva's eyes. Brown eyes that didn't waver when she told him she couldn't trust Tony any more. The hot Israeli sun, burning his scalp through his thinning hair as he tried to decipher what exactly it was she was saying. Words such as "trust" and "you of all people understand" floated through the air.

Her tone, her wording carefully schooled, but her eyes – they begged and pleaded with him. It's those eyes that wake him in the middle of the night, a wet sheen of sweat coating his body. Did he do the right thing leaving her there, or did he sign her death warrant? Should he have done something, insisted she come home? Or was this the destiny she needed to fulfill. Either way, every day for four solid months, he beat himself up.

* * *

It has been four long months that Abby has moped, sulked. Questioning constantly if they had heard from Ziva, when was she coming home and why it seemed that she had fallen off the face of the earth? Four months that every time her lab doors slid open, she had that expectant look, only for it to drop off her face seconds later. Four months where she tried so hard to be supportive of Tony, only to allow the pain and blame to seep through her pores as the after work drinks loosened her tongue.

* * *

Four months that the rest of the team, waited, patiently for Ziva to return to her senses, or at least simply return.

* * *

Four months that every time Tony's mobile rang he hoped it was her, and when it didn't, he sat, staring at the blank, silent screen, willing her to call.

But she didn't, couldn't.

* * *

Gibbs would call it his gut, Abby would say it was hinky – either way – when they hadn't heard from her after a few days, Tony started his own investigation.

Yes, she was irate, furious, enraged even with him.

But the others? She would have made contact with Abby, said goodbye if nothing else.

Vance called him in, stood over him as he slouched in the chair. Told him in no uncertain terms to back the hell away. That if he cared for his Mossad partner at all, he would leave it alone – particularly if he wanted to see Ziva again – breathing.

Didn't take to well to that order. Simply peaked his curiosity. So he slunk around, trying to get McGeek and his band of merry cyber men to quietly hack into her mobile phone records, her email – anything he could think of.

And so, he was bundled off to a conference in Russia for a week, no roaming on his phone, no internet connection. Talk about being sent to Siberia. Some may say this assignment was an honor, a privilege, but Tony saw it as punishment. And in a way it was, the only way Vance could think of to keep Tony's interfering out of it, before he did something they all regretted.

* * *

Gibbs, on the other hand, couldn't agree with Tony more. The fact, that he had been told to lay off, made his gut rumble and curdle. He knew Ziva could take care of herself, hell she had been doing so quite well for 30-odd years without any interference from him or Tony for that matter. And, hell knows what kind of situations, predicaments and so-called missions she had been sent on prior to them meeting her.

He knew she and Jen had been in some sticky situations, he remembers the stories Jen told him, her long red hair splayed out over her naked back as she shared the tales of the Mossad operative.

A dreamy look on her face, made Gibbs think that she had an extremely vivid imagination, until he met Ziva himself, of course. And then, he realized, those stories of valor and death were quite believable.

He chuckles to himself. Hard to think of Ziva as a stone cold killer, as she lay, her head on Tony's shoulder, her NCIS cap off center, snoring lightly after a long, hard case.

Shaking his head, he stops his musings. The direct order not to engage, the smatterings of conversation that he sat with from both Vance himself and SecNav, made him think that there was a lot more to this whole situation.

Made him contact some of his old marine buddies, a couple of guys who owed him more than a few favors. Amazing what saving a life or two in combat can do for you, and he was more than willing to collect. Carried out his own covert operation without the rest of the team knowing.

Vance called him in a few weeks back. Suggested quietly, through gritted teeth, that he should leave the hell alone. But, did reveal they believed she was somewhere in Somalia. That he was on it, but any ham-fisted operation that went storming in, would certainly result in death for all involved, including the one they wanted returned.

So Gibbs backed off and did something he wasn't comfortable doing – he waited.

* * *

The call came through late last night; a crack team had infiltrated a suspected Hamas cell a few days previously. Turns out to be more complicated that previously thought. Put a bit of a spanner in the works, that did. They had managed to rescue three people, but, unfortunately, none matched the description of the one NCIS were looking for.

It was a few hours later, as Gibbs sat in the darkened bullpen, that he received the information he was waiting for. One of his old mates contacted him through MTAC. They had recovered a dark haired woman two weeks back, barely breathing. She had muttered something indistinguishable when they rescued her, and hadn't regained consciousness since then.

They suspected she was the wife of a businessman, kidnapped and being held for ransom. But this Intel proved to be false.

And now, the marine wondered, could this be whom Gibbs was searching for?

The grainy photographed flashed onto the screen. Closed, bruised eyes and pale skin, but most definitely Ziva. "How could you not know this is who we are looking for?" grated Gibbs through tightly clenched lips. "We sent her photo out."

"Well, to start with, this one is pregnant."

Vance and Gibbs exchange startled looks. "She is definitely ours," Gibbs responds, recovering first. "When can you get her stateside?"

"She is on her way, should be with you by midday tomorrow," was the reply. "But, you should know, it doesn't look good. Docs here reckon that she is out cold, don't know if she will wake up, or even if she will want to. The bastards who had her, worked her over pretty good. But don't worry; they won't be bothering anyone again."

And with this, the screen goes black. Vance and Gibbs leave the room. "Guess you better call the team in. When's DiNozzo due in?" Vance asks. "He's going to want to know about this."

Gibbs just nods. "Should be arriving late afternoon."

Entering the bullpen, Gibbs sees the sun beginning to rise. It's going to be a long day. He makes the call. Asks McGee to pass on the message to Abby and then calls Ducky himself. He is going to need his whole team for this one.

* * *

They come in drips and drabs, concerned looks plastered on their faces, trying to be brave but all a little scared. There has to be a reason Gibbs has called them in this early, and they doubt its good news. Abby's mascara is already streaked across her eyes, she swipes again at the tears that threaten, hanging delicately on her eyelashes, like dewdrops on spider webs.

They hover around Gibbs, waiting for the explanation that is sure to come. "There's some news." Gibbs utters, looking at the expectant faces. "It's not entirely bad, but not entirely good…"

"Well, spit it out man," Ducky utters, uncharacteristically brusque for him.

Gibbs gives his old friend a sideways glance before continuing: "As I was saying. Ziva has been found, alive – for now. But they don't know if she will make it. She is being airlifted to Bethesda and should be here within a couple of hours. We don't know much about her status, except that she has been badly beaten, tortured…" He breaks off as he sees the troubled faces, Abby now openly crying, rubbing her torn sleeve over her face.

"There's more." He takes a deep breath. "We don't know the full details, but the marines who rescued her say that she is pregnant."

A ragged sigh echoes through the quiet room, and Abby takes a deep, shuddering gasp: "Did they… was she… how did she…"

"We don't know Abs," Gibbs replies quietly, cutting her off before she can fully voice her concerns. "We will know more once our doctors examine her."

Ducky is up and almost at the elevator by the time Gibbs catches up to him. He raises an eyebrow. "I may be a mere medical examiner, but I do have some knowledge and clout, Jethro. I am going to the hospital. When I have some information I will let you know." And with that, the elevator closes on Gibb's startled face.

Turning back to the team, he says: "Right, we have work to do. Let's find as much as we can."

"Has Tony been told?" McGee asks quietly, almost plaintively.

"I have left a message on his phone. Told him to contact me immediately. He is due in later today. So let's get cracking. Hopefully we will have more information to give him."

* * *

Tony was currently on route home, stuck a thousand of miles above with no way of contacting him till he landed. And when he did, the news they would be giving him, wasn't good. Wasn't good at all.

* * *

A few hours later, the lift doors open, revealing a smiling Tony. "I got your message Boss, you found Ziva – where is she, is she here?" He asks looking around frantically. Sees the worry on Gibb's face, the dejected look on Abby's.

Gibbs glances over to Tim. "McGee – found out that info I requested yet?"

"Aaghh. No Boss, on it boss," McGee buries his head again and begins tapping furiously on his keyboard. Abby moves to his side to help him. Giving the impression of privacy in the open office space.

"What you not telling me Boss? I'm a big boy, I can take it. Ziva get married without telling us?" Tony half chuckles, sitting heavily in his chair as he tries, unsuccessfully, to pull up his mask of bravado.

Gibbs takes a deep breath; this is going to be a hard one. He moves over to the younger man's desk, leans over. "Tony, we have found Ziva. She is being examined at Bethesda as we speak. Ducky is there with her. But Tony, it's not good, she is not good."

Tony shakes his head, trying to clear the information. Gibbs straightens.

"There's an added complication, she is in a coma. And she is apparently a good few months pregnant, which means it didn't happen while she was captured."

At this, Tony's face visibly pales; he sinks back into his chair, the smile that had been hovering, slips away.

"I don't. I don't believe it." He whispers, shaking his head.

"What, that Ziva could possibly get over her infatuation with you long enough to have a relationship? Not that hard to believe after all, she was dating Rivkin," smirks McGee, earning a head slap from Abby who shushes him. "Inappropriate?" he asks looking up at her – "I was just trying to lighten the mood."

Tony is about to lunge at McGee, when Gibbs' phone rings. "Right, thank you. We will be there shortly." He puts the phone down, looks over to McGee. "Tim," he says quietly. "Anything on that info?"

McGee swallows hard; he can still feel the cold green steel of Tony's eyes burning into him. "Aah, yes. He, um." He swallows visibly. "ICE has Rivkin arriving just under six months ago. Six weeks before Tony sh…, before his death."

Gibbs turns and looks hard at Tony. "How long Tony," he questions, his voice low, controlled.

"How long what?" Tony replies. Not entirely sure what Gibbs is getting at, his mind still trying to make sense of what has happened to Ziva, desperate to go and see her.

"Don't play dumb with me DiNozzo. How long?"

Realization floods Tony. "Aaaah, on and off for the last few years. Started just after our undercover mission as married assassins. Been more off than on lately. My being involved with Jeanne, and of course Rivkin, kind of put a dampener on things."

Gibbs nods thoughtfully. "Uh-huh… and the last time would be?"

At this, Tony's face grows hard. "With respect, I don't know of what importance this would be to you. We kept it out of the office. " he spits out.

Gibbs' phone rings, and he answers it as Tony glares at him angrily. "It's most definitely her. She is in a coma – and Jethro, she looks to be about eight months gone. She is resting comfortably; her broken bones have been set. The baby's heart beat is strong, but they are planning to do an ultrasound to make sure everything is okay," reports Ducky.

Thanking him, Gibbs puts the phone down and looks over to Tony.

"I'm gonna ask you again. When was the last time?"

Tony sighs. "Bout seven or eight months ago. She started acting weird, pushed me away. Then Rivkin reappears on the scene and I guess I got my answer."

Gibbs clicks his tongue. "That's about right – Ducky has just confirmed it. Ziva is almost eight months pregnant. Congratulations Tony, Looks like you are going to become a daddy."

Tony glances at his watch: the time has just ticked over to 3pm.


	2. Chapter 2 Watching, Waiting, Wishing

**Disclaimer: Same as before**

a/n: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the awesome reviews... you guys rock! hope you enjoy

**Chapter two: Watching, waiting, wishing**

They move purposely forward – the collective. No one attempts to stop, halt or hinder them. Those with the white jackets and white shoes, they know better. They have seen that look countless times before: determination, the unfaltering belief that their strength will be the thing that gives her life. And those with the tired eyes and healing hands; nod gently and let them pass. Perhaps this time, their love will be enough to stop another one from slipping over to the other side. Perhaps…

Gibbs and Tony lead. It is somewhat comforting that the man who hasn't worn his marine fatigues in a good few years – still dresses with military precision: the neatly pressed cargo pants, a white crew shirt, his button-down shirt and smartly polished field boots. Tony wears the suit he put on with such confidence shortly before he boarded the plane – in another world, in another lifetime. His shirt is untucked, his tie skew, but he doesn't notice as he marches, matching step for step, foot for foot his older boss, his mentor, his friend.

Behind them, McGee's new shoes squeak annoyingly over the freshly cleaned tiles, his slightly rumpled chinos and wrinkled shirt a far cry from the senior agent he emulates. Beside him, Abby bounds to keep up. Her knee high platforms, with their chunky cherry-red heels, clipper-clopper as she takes three steps to their one. Her tight mini (barely more than an overlarge belt really) makes her knees knock together, pigtails bobbing on either side of her head, she sniffs loudly.

Bringing up the rear, Jimmy, still dressed in his work scrubs, makes a garbled sound. A small anxious looking man, a mirror image of himself grabs hold of him: "Dude – Bowman is going to have your ass. You are supposed to be with the rest of the first years… Come on, I'll take you."

And Jimmy's small eyes blink rapidly behind his glasses, he is swept away in a tidal wave of matching sea green scrubs. His head bobs up and down, his hand outstretched towards Abby, terror on his face as he disappears around the corner, caught in the human sea.

"Don't worry Jimmy, catch up when you caa-aan," Abby yells at his retreating form. She turns to see Gibbs and Tony striding ahead, turning another corner. Runs to catch up to them, her shoes clattering, skidding along the highly polished floors.

And promptly slides into a stationary McGee who grabs onto the bottom of Tony's jacket to right himself, yanking him off his feet. Gibbs turns, his brow furrows, he stares at the heap that is his team – all tangled arms and legs. Raising his eyes to the ceiling he sighs, deeply.

* * *

Hearing the commotion in the passage way, Ducky gently touches Ziva's mottled, bruised cheek. "They are here my dear. See, I told you they would come," he whispers in her ear, her eyes still shut tightly against the world. Wiping a tear away from his cheek, he straightens his bow-tie, braces himself, slips out the door.

A slew of questions shoot out the waiting mouths, slamming against his ears. He raises his hand, silencing them. His quiet, gentle voice, firmly explaining the little information he has - yes the baby seems to be healthy and fine, no Ziva hasn't woken up, no they don't know when she will, but yes she doesn't seem to be in much pain.

He tries to warn them, prepare them for the sight, tries to say that Ziva is not the person they know, love, remember. That she seems so tiny and frail in the bed, that she looks almost like a child, if not for her distended stomach. Swallowing hard, he tries to describe the tubes that link her to machines which make sure her heart keeps pumping, that she keeps breathing, that she and her baby live.

And, unnoticed by the others, Tony slips quietly into Ziva's room. He doesn't need to hear, he just wants to see. This is not his partner, the feisty assassin, the woman he… Always on the thin side, she is now skin and bone, her eyes swollen shut, neat stitches and gauze patchwork her face. He gently sinks onto the bed next to her, careful not to disturb her prone body, lightly kisses the top of her head, whispering words against her hair not meant for anyone else's ears.

Pulling her blanket down gently, he exposes her rounded belly encased in the hospital gown. He makes certain the blanket is tucked up against her back, trying to protect her dignity and decency in this awful open-backed item. He resolves to send Abby to get her some better sleepwear. Ever so carefully, he lays his open palm on the side of her belly, feeling the movement of life beneath her tight skin. Tears prick his eyes and he looks up to see Gibbs and the others standing at the open door, staring at him.

Each with their own desperation, wanting to consol themselves, wishing her to wake up – and each not wanting to disturb, destroy this fragile moment between man, woman and unborn child. They all missed her in their own way – but until this moment, they hadn't realized just how profoundly so.

"I felt the baby move," Tony gulps. "Is that possible?" he asks quietly looking first at Gibbs, then at Ducky for confirmation. The two men nod, almost in unison. And, Tony leans forward, gently pressing his lips against her belly. "Hello in there. You have been so strong for so long, just like your mother. Stay with us, with me. Don't either of you give up now. You are safe. I will make sure of that." He whispers. And in response, her belly shifts and moves, just ever so slightly, but noticeable to those close by.

A strangled cry escapes Abby's lips as she tries so desperately hard to be strong for Ziva, for Tony… but the more she tries to swallow her pain, watching the anguish flit over Tony's face, while Ziva's distorted features remain carved in stone, the more it bubbles and rumbles inside of her. Not able to hold back, she pushes out of the room, her cries and clattering feet echoing down the quiet passage.

"I'll go," McGee says, first stepping forward to place his hand awkwardly on Tony's shoulder before following Abby out.

He finds Abby huddled on the floor outside, her shoulders heaving as the cries flood her body. "Oh Timmy – what are we going to do, what are we going to do. I mean. I know they were close – we all knew that. But, this…I never expected this. Did you know?" And as McGee opened his mouth to answer, she hurries ahead. "Of course you didn't know. If you knew, you would have told me and you never did, so I know you didn't know."

Her shoulders heave and she cries into McGee's chest, clutching onto his shirt, leaving wide streaks of mascara. He doesn't mind, doesn't care, just tugs her in closer, tighter, pulling her onto his lap, consoling her, rocking her like a child.

"It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay." he repeats over and over into her ear, a mantra for him as much as her, and her sobs begin to subside.

"'Kay, Timmy, I believe you," her smile watery. "You have never lied to me…"

And pulls her in closer, desperately hoping he isn't starting now.

* * *

Gibbs watches over Tony. Tony watches over Ziva. It's been a few hours now, the sun long set, the others long gone. Gibbs, stands, stretches, paces. Looks over to Tony who hasn't moved, won't move. "Gonna get some coffee, and then you are gonna go for a walk," he insists. And because it's Gibbs, Tony agrees.

Earlier, the doctors had come in – Ziva's and the baby's – filled Tony and Gibbs in on her current condition.

"Want to see your baby," the younger doctor asks Tony, a twinkle in his eye and Tony just nods as the gel is rubbed on Ziva's belly. "Look at the screen – that's your child there… see," he says, pointing, "that is the head. Oh, there's a foot and an arm. Quite a frisky tyke – moving around like crazy. Want to know the sex?" he asks, turning to see the tears streaming down Tony's cheeks. He nods silently; the older man squeezes his shoulder tightly.

* * *

Night moves forward to another day, the sun streams in through the window and still Ziva sleeps on. Gibbs stands, hot coffee in his hand, watching the crumpled, sleeping form of the man folded into the chair next to her bed.

The light squeak of hospital issue shoes makes him turn, taking in the shapely legs, the startling white uniform, the glinting, twinkling sapphire eyes responding to the concern in his own. "Been here all night. Wouldn't move. But he's not doing any harm. Should watch his own health though. Not much good to anyone if he is sleep deprived." Gibbs nods in response, but he knows, just as well as the nurse does – nothing will move the sleeping man from the sleeping woman's side.

And in his sleep, Tony snuffles, moans, stretches, opens his eyes. His dream fading away as quickly as night, his nightmare the reality in front of him. Standing, he first checks on Ziva, then places his hand on her belly, before looking up into the two pairs of apprehensive eyes staring at him.

He nods, acknowledging their presence, their support. Takes a huge whiff of his underarms, visibly recoiling. Gibbs smiles, picks up the duffle bag hiding beside him and flings it at Tony. "Brought your stuff, figured you wouldn't leave…"

Tony smiles gratefully before slipping into the small bathroom. He climbs into the shower, and unfurls the tension in his shoulders. Head under the water, doesn't hear the raised voices, coming from inside Ziva's room.

Steps out, drying himself quickly and now realizes the commotion outside the door. Quickly dressing – jeans, button down shirt, runs his hands through his wet hair and opens the door. The small room is crowded – Gibbs at one side of Ziva's bed, with Ducky, Abby and that nice nurse. The two doctors on the other. He knows they introduced themselves yesterday, but he cannot remember their names and he is to far away to read the nametags on their white jackets. But that is not what concerns him, as he shakes his foggy, sleep-deprived head, trying to clear his eyes and focus on the two armed soldiers, flanking the new arrival, his broad shoulders strong, his head held high, the glint unmistakable. Tony steps forward, looks the man in the eye.

"Director David," he acknowledges. "So good of you to take time out of your busy schedule to visit your daughter," He continues bitterly.

The director watches him, a smirk on his face. Holds up his hand, preventing his two trained monkeys from stepping forward, intent on their faces and in their stance.

"It is alright. Agent DiNozzo is just voicing his opinion." He says as the men step back in line again, this time revealing Director Vance who had been hiding behind.

"I came as soon as I heard the news, not that I have to explain my presence to you," Eli answers, staring directly at Tony.

"And why, did you not inform us months ago that Ziva was infact missing, captured, pregnant?" Tony spits out. "Surely your remarkable intelligence operatives should have passed on this information?"

Director David inclines his head, a trait he unknowingly shares with his daughter: "She was on a mission, one that didn't prove successful. A badly burnt body, of a woman matching her description, was found close by to where she had been stationed. And as she had disappeared, we believed, mistakenly now of course, that she had been killed in the line of duty. We did not feel the need to involve NCIS in this matter; it was of no importance to the agency, or you."

Tony swallows the bile in his throat, steps forward, fist clenched, as Gibbs lays a restraining hand on his shoulder. Calms him with that single touch, that careful warning. And, Tony, for once not letting his hot anger get the better of him, swallows hard.

Without looking up at the others, he notices Ziva's blanket must have slipped while the doctor was examining her, the wretched hospital gown exposing more of her than she would like.

He pulls her gown closed, and rubs his hand over her belly, before carefully pulling the blanket up and tucking it neatly around her prone body.

He brushes the hair of her face, tucks it behind her ear, and steps back.

The director has a strange look on his face, a softening of his features, which retreats just as quickly as it appears. "As you were explaining, Dr James?"

The younger doctor looks at Tony apologetically before turning back to the director. "But, it is possible to keep her safely alive till after delivery. The thing is, we cannot tell at this point, when she will wake up, or if she will even wake up. And even if she does, we do not know what kind of damage – physically, mentally and emotionally has been inflicted on her."

Tony interrupts. "Ah, sorry Doc, I know I am late to the party here, but what are you saying?"

The Director answers before the Doctor has even opened his mouth: "It's quite simple, Agent DiNozzo. Ziva's injuries are severe, and I believe it best – for her and those involved – if we simply switch off the machines. The doctors feels that in her current condition, she may live a few more hours, but no more. I don't think my daughter, the fighter she was, would want to live this way."

Abby gasps out loud, as Tony seethes. "With all due respect, sir," he spits out. "You do not know your daughter well enough to understand what she would or wouldn't want. And, you have no right to decide the future of my unborn child. Yes, Director, my child – your grandchild." He points to the monitor, the clear rise and fall as the unborn baby's heart beats strongly. "That, sir, is my daughter. I will be damned to stand by and let you kill her."

"Anthony," Ducky's gently voice of reason speaks up. "It is true that Ziva can be kept alive for the sake of the baby. Your daughter is a fighter like her mother, strong and determined. That much we know…"

The Director interrupts. "I like to think I know a little about American law and while the child may be partly yours," at this, he grimaces. "The fact remains that fathers have no rights over their unborn children or the mothers that carry them."

"He's right, Tony," Gibbs adds quietly. "Unfortunately, as an unmarried father, you have no say in this decision." The hard blue eyes redden with sadness.

"Well, that's good then," Tony responds as the others look at him questioningly. "And I invoke my right to ensure that both mother and child are kept stable and alive for as long as possible."

"But Tony," says Abby desperately. "You cannot. They have just said…" she trails off as comprehension floods the room.

"You're married." Gibbs responds quietly. McGee, having just entered the room, cups of coffee and greasy bags of breakfast balancing precariously in his arms, mutters: "What, who is married, what have I missed?" he whines.

"Yip," Tony responds, smiling for the first time in 24 hours. "Civil ceremony when you went off on your little sojourn to Mexico. Seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time." He shakes his head sadly.

"Of course, the honeymoon lasted longer than the actual marriage – I didn't fully appreciate that she came to you -" tilting his head towards a stunned Gibbs "– when she was set up on murder and terrorism changes, instead of me, her partner and husband. Raised some trust issues, as you can imagine. And she, of course, wasn't too pleased to find out that I was not only sleeping with Jeanne but professed my love to her – these kinds of things do tend to make married life difficult…"

"A wayward lover," breathes Ducky as several pairs of eyes swivel towards him. "Ah, sorry, it's just a conversation that Ziva and I once had regarding young Anthony here. I told her she fretted over him like a mother a toddler, or a woman with a wayward lover…" he trails off, realizing that perhaps, this isn't the best time for reminiscing.

With this, Tony sinks into the chair by Ziva's bedside, staring at her face. "It was an unspoken agreement that we didn't refer to it, and well, as time went on, it became to hard to say sorry, and to late to try and rectify the wrongs and misunderstandings. I just never got round to signing and filing those divorce papers. I guess part of me hoped I would never have to. That if I waited long enough, she would remember what it was that drew us in the first place…"

"I don't believe it," scoffed Director David. "Ziva would have told me, I would know if such nonsense had occurred."

"Maybe your intelligence, ain't so intelligent," Gibbs mutters under his breath.

The director continues, as if he hadn't heard the comment. "That's it. Enough of this Tomfoolery. I demand you switch off this machine, allow her to die the death she wanted." He moves towards the machines, but Dr Bishop intercepts him.

"I'm afraid that Agent DiNozzo's admission has changed things somewhat. If what he is saying is true, then, estranged or not, they are legally married and the decision rests with him. I will need to see the official documentation of course," the older doctor adds, glancing over at Tony. "But for now, mother and child will remain alive."

Exasperated, Director David spins on his heel. "This," he sneers, "Is not the last of this. I will be back and I will prove that this," he opens his arms wide. "Is simply one of DiNozzo's silly tricks. I will be back." And with his two flunky's trailing him, he leaves the room – the remaining occupants still wide-eyed, trying to make sense of what has just happened.

And Ziva sleeps on.


	3. Chapter 3 Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

**Disclaimer: same as before**

A/N: Oh wow… Thank you for the reviews – made my day!!! I hope I can live up to your expectations.

* * *

**Chapter three:** **Yesterday, today, tomorrow**

As soon as the director and his flunkies leave the room, Gibbs has his phone out, speaking quietly in the corner. He finishes the call, looks up at Tony, who is oblivious to the still gawking team members.

"I assume, from your somewhat self-satisfied demeanor, that the marriage certificate is not at your apartment – because you know that is the first place he is going to check… Either way, got guards posted at the door just in case." Gibbs comments dryly.

Tony nods: "Thanks Boss, took me a long time to perfect that DVD collection – wouldn't want it to be ruined just yet…"

Gibbs shakes his head, pushes the team out the door – they protest, moan, complain – they want answers and are not happy that they are not getting them.

"He will fill you all in later – right now… Get…"

Closes the door behind them, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts, the still sleeping Ziva, and the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of the fetal heart monitor.

* * *

It's dark by the time Tony gets to NCIS headquarters: it's been a long day, doing pretty much nothing except waiting, hoping, praying. And he isn't a particularly religious man.

Gibbs is with her now, he will stay there, like a sentry on guard until he, Tony, can return. And in a way, knowing that, Tony feels reassured.

Abby had come for a while today – they sat on the floor of Ziva's room, their backs against the wall, chatting in hushed tones - ironic really, as if they were worried their muted tones would disturb her, when it was the one thing they wanted – for her to wake up.

Abby of course had questions that she demanded answers for, questions that he _had_ no answers for. What could he tell her, what could he say? That the idea of becoming a father scares him to death? That he doesn't want to be as emotionally stunted as his own father was, but that he thinks it is already too late?

That the last conversation he had with Ziva, involved him lying on his back, and not in a good way, either. That, there in Israel, as he tried to catch his breath, her words took it away again. That he had pretty much revealed his feelings to her in the rawest way possible and she had thrown them back at him. And in that moment, as the sun-warmed pavement heated his skin, he realized what he had denied, no, refused for so long. She has moved on, she desired… no, not just desired - she loved another. He had taken that away from her. And now… and now… she hated him for it…

* * *

He sinks into his chair, pulls his out wallet and fingers the indentation in the leather. Smiles at the memory that plays on the edge of his mind.

Tara, her name was – the woman who had a history with Vance – who had his own number from the moment she walked through the door. She knew of the dry spell he had been going through, the circular indentation of the latex protection still securely tucked away in his wallet – where it had been since Jeanne, since… Ziva.

It was the sight of Tara, leaning up against him, breathing his air as the elevator opened, that gave the stubborn assassin the push she needed and he so desperately craved.

He had caught Tara's stifled giggle as the elevator doors closed again on Ziva's startled expression. He had stood in that lift for a good ten minutes, riding up and down as passengers climbed in and out – he knew that look and knew what it would mean for him and well, quite frankly, his ego had been bruised enough for one day.

The first time the lift door opened, and he quickly pushed the closed button, she eyed him suspiciously; the second time her hands were on her hips, her foot tapping impatiently; the third, he caught her impish grin and a flash of skin had him sticking his hand through the closing doors, forcing them open and pulling her in with him.

"Hah, made you look," she had said proudly, pulling her shirt down neatly.

He caught her around the waist, spun her into the corner, leaned into her body. "And what if it had been Vance, or Gibbs?" he asked her. Her laughter – how he loved that sound - had bubbled up from her belly, out of her mouth. He swallowed her mirth, mingling it with his own. Her eyes had widened in surprise, just briefly, as she raked her hands through his hair, pulling him in closer, deepening their connection.

It was he who had broken away first, his forehead resting on hers as he tried to calm his body, his mind. The lift doors opened, and she slipped out without a word, that throaty laugher echoing as he sighed, breathed deeply and rode the lift back up to his desk where paperwork sat waiting for him.

* * *

It was a few hours later, the night dark, skyline littered with lights, when he made his way home, alone, unsatisfied, frustrated…. Considered going for a run – the poor man's substitute. He had stumbled into his apartment, not bothering to put the lights on, as he stripped off his clothes and then stopped, halted, stared – feeling just like Goldilocks, or was it the three bears? For there, lying in the middle of his bed, sleeping was 'just-right'.

He smiled, bounced on the bed like a small child and she went flying. Her eyes wide, the sheet slipping down to her waist. He reached for her, got that spot just below her ribs that he knew drove her wild as laughter turned to moans, then screams, sighs, satisfaction. She didn't stay, slipped quietly out of the bed and he watched her go.

* * *

Words were not spoken, explanations not given, permission was not asked. All it took was a simple glance, a light flickering touch, a meaningful smile. Sometimes, she went to him and sometimes, he to her. Sometimes in anger, sometimes comfort, frustration, fun and sometimes, just because…

And for a few short weeks, that which once connected them, returned and the office was a lighter place to be. The banter was back, the innuendos, the exasperated sighs, the cheesy grins. And the team silently welcomed that which had been missing.

There was only one rule – no staying. Cuddling, talking, sleeping, sharing, would mean admitting there was actually something more than simply scratching an itch, friends again becoming lovers… The words once spoken with gusto and truth: love – honor – sickness - health – death – part - would again hang in the air – and there was no place, no time for sentimentality.

* * *

After a particularly grueling, hard case – a woman murdered who no one came looking for, no one mourned, no one missed - he knew she would be waiting for him. The woman's loneliness had struck a cord within them both. Once again, she finished her paperwork first in her diligent, some might call pedantic manner and he, concentrating, his tongue tucked into the corner of his lip, stoically took his time.

He crawled into bed, her waiting, wanting form already there. She turned, clung to him. He knew, even then, that this was the end. Could taste the salt of her tears, her desperately holding onto him, trying to climb within his skin. Whispered words he didn't understand, murmured into the crook of his neck. Sweet kisses littered his face. And, as their screams of ecstasy hung in the air, the stinging pain of her bite clung to his skin, she turned out of his body, lying flush against his chest. Pulled his arm tight around her, closed her eyes and slept. And somewhere, deep within her body, the journey of life was just beginning.

He pulled her closer, trying to memorize the smell of her hair, the taste of neck, the velvet of her skin. And in his dreams, he felt the emptiness of her moving away, her breath against his ear. He knew this was goodbye, swore he heard her whisper the words: "I'm so sorry Tony, maybe one day you will forgive me." The door closed, and she was gone.

* * *

And while they still smiled, bantered, joked – it wasn't the same. Their eyes told a different story, their bodies subtly turned away. Darkness, despair and quiet loathing fell over the bullpen. The assassin of the many faces, who could control her emotions, who never made personal connections, only alliances, had forgotten that there was one person she couldn't deceive, who seemed to know her better than perhaps she even knew, or understood herself. And the man who hid behind his ego, his philandering, his humor and his jokes, knew that she was hiding something, protecting someone and he was determined to find out what was going on, even at his own personal cost.

Abby returned to the confusion of her lab, and McGee – McGee retreated into his alternate reality where he could write the wrongs, displaying the angry, antagonistic two the way they long to be, instead of the roles they cast themselves in.

Two sides of the same coin – trust and betrayal; truth and lies; life and death; love and hate – could do your head in.

* * *

And, now he sits in the bullpen, alone. He feels the indentation again. Smoothes his fingers over the soft leather, reaches in behind and pulls out the small tarnished key. Holding it up, he squints, closing one eye and then the other, before reaching down and pulling out the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. Lifts out the small metal box, unlocks his treasures, and there nestled beneath eight years of Gibb's unclaimed awards, lies the brown envelope. Opening it, he pulls out the wedding certificate linking him and Ziva under one name, a well-fingered photograph taken of the day – her laughing, head tossed back, wearing a simple white dress, her arms thrown around him, their new rings glinting in the sun; and the two, simple gold rings, the smaller fitting almost perfectly within the other. Pity, he thought, he couldn't say the same for the owners.

Tucking the certificate, photograph and the rings in his pocket, he looks over to her desk and sighs. She had made her feelings extremely clear. But, she was his partner, the mother of his unborn child and, for what it's worth, his wife and until she can glare at him, flip her hair over her shoulder and in her husky voice tell him to p... off, well, it is his job, no, his duty – to love, honor, protect…


	4. Chapter 4 Fantasy, Fact or Fiction?

A/N: To all those who review – thank you, you are amazing.

**Chapter four: Fantasy, fact or fiction?**

The hospital is quiet by the time Tony returns, the lights down low, the gentle hum of lifesaving machinery. Visiting hours are long since over. But, his quiet swagger gives him the appearance of belonging here, and no-one questions why. The staff knows better than to try and keep him away.

He slips into the darkened room, lit only by the hallway lights. Sees Gibbs, already asleep, his feet up on the second chair of his make-shift bed, dark shadows clinging just under his eyes.

Slipping his shoes off, Tony eases himself onto the bed next to Ziva, mindful of the tubes and lines attached to her. Wraps his arms around her belly, closes his eyes, slipping into the uneasy sleep of the watchful, the hopeful, the waiting.

* * *

The early morning light filters through, rays reaching out across the floor, lightly caressing Gibbs's feet as he sits in the corridor just outside Ziva's room.

Still questioning the part he has played in this whole sordid mess. Could he have prevented this? If he only he had insisted she come back with them… If only he hadn't left her there on that landing strip… If only he had listened to his loudly protesting gut… if only… He sinks his head into his hands, stares at his shoes for a few seconds, before briefly closing his eyes.

Grunts as he smells the freshly brewed coffee that is definitely not the swill served on the hospital premises. Figures that he must finally be losing his mind. But the smell lingers, as does the delicate scent of frangipani that tickles his nose. Opens his eyes to see a pair of oh-so-sensible white shoes, shapely legs and smiling sapphire eyes – the nurse from the day before. She holds the steaming cup out to him.

"We do a coffee run each day, can't stand that stuff we serve in the canteen. I'm right in assuming that you're black, no frills?"

He nods his head agreement taking the proffered cup.

She sits beside him. "I'm Stacey by the way."

"Jethro" he responds gruffly, taking a deep satisfying draw on the liquid.

Stacey smiles: "I know. The good Dr Mallard told me."

They sit in silence. Not that awkward what-do-we-say-now-kind-of-silence, but rather the comfortable no-need-to-fill-the-empty-space-with-useless-chatter-kind-of-silence.

And after a while, she ventures: "So… Tony is watching over Ziva. And you are watching over Tony. But who..." and with this he tears his gaze away from Ziva's hospital room, meeting hers. "...is looking after you?" she asks, her head slightly inclined.

* * *

Tony wakes as Stacey enters the room. Slips off the bed, apologizing profusely for breaking protocol. She simply smiles, tells him what he needs to hear: that his presence is comforting, helpful. That she has been watching him with Ziva, and thinks she, Stacey, has a glimpse of how close they once must have been. And that while this may not be their reality now, perhaps, just perhaps, he can pull her back from the darkness she has fallen into.

He returns Stacey's smile, gratefully. Threads his hands through his hair. A nervous gesture; a comforting gesture. Helps him gain some perspective. Grimacing slightly, he pulls the folded, crinkled paper from his shirt pocket. Kept close to his own beating heart. Ironic.

His hands shaking, he gingerly unfolds it; the photograph flutters unnoticed to the ground. He takes the rings out of their nesting place, between the crumpled sheets and handing the paper over to Stacey, self-consciously shoves the rings back into his pocket. She smiles knowingly, reassuringly, gestures for him to follow her. Watching from the doorway, Gibbs acknowledges Tony's silent request, sinks back into his chair, tries to get comfortable: the guardian, the protector.

Dr Bishop is sitting behind his desk; his glasses perched on the edge of his nose as Stacey and Tony enter. She hands over the documentation. He nods, satisfied. Requests a photocopy which he signs, along with two witnesses. "Can't be too careful, now can we? Two lives at stake here," he responds gently. "Don't worry Agent DiNozzo, I will make sure that your wife gets the best care possible. This is airtight, and the outcome is completely dependent on you. A huge responsibility, I realise."

He pats Tony on the shoulder, "Now, let's see how they are doing today, shall we?"

* * *

Gibbs has long since returned to the naval yard. Work still to be done. Tony remains by Ziva's side. Ducky should be along any moment now. He was due a few hours ago, but something cropped up in autopsy which has been keeping him busy. They - Ducky, Abby, McGee and Jimmy - have drawn up a roster of sorts to ensure, at least for now, that someone is by her side around the clock. Tony and Gibbs take the night shifts, although Tony doesn't like to be away from her for too long. He realizes that he needs to stay strong, to be strong. She needs him; they need him.

Sitting beside her bed the light flickers slightly. He sees the chocolate brown eyes he has been longing for, staring deeply into his. She lifts herself carefully on the bed, reaching her arms out towards him, as she swings her legs over and steps jerkily forward. There is a spark in her eyes, and a smile on her lips. That throaty, dirty laughter he misses so much bubbles out of her mouth. Too late, his eyes catch sight of the intricately carved white bone handle clasped in her hand, the glint of metal. The cold blade bites into his skin and he flops onto the ground, life-giving red draining, pooling around him. Questions bubble on his lips and his eyes feel as if rocks are dragging them closed. Everything swims in and out of focus. His brain clouded, he is almost certain that there are thin, semi-translucent threads springing from her limbs, her head. Somewhere between consciousness and oblivion, he sees the puppet master controlling her actions. A white joker's face with shocking green hair and blood-red mouth leers back at him. Batman's worst nightmare? He wonders feebly. Maniacal laughter drips from the widely-stretched mouth, contorted features meld and shift once more into a more recognizable image – Director Eli David –the laughter echoes on.

With a shudder and a jerk; his eyes fly open. Smacks his lips once or twice, reaches up his fingers and wipes away the pocket of drool that has pooled in the corner of his mouth. Realizes he must have fallen asleep, that he was just dreaming, and his rapid breathing slowly returns to normal. He glances over at the still peaceful Ziva, quickly checks her hands for any puppet strings or errant knives and chuckles quietly at the absurd nature of his thoughts. Shakes his head, trying to clear the images. He can still hear the soft rumble of satisfied laughter coming from behind him. Turns and jumps slightly as he sees his nightmare in front of him. Director David is on his own, having lost his protection patrol, for the moment. Has a yellow folder tucked under his arm, his laughter fades into a smirk and he cocks his head at Tony.

"So, Agent DiNozzo, you may think you have won this round. But have you really? What I have here might change your mind after all."

He steps fully into the room. Stands next to the bed and looks down at Ziva's still sleeping body. His features a combination of loathing and pity. Not the look of a loving, pining father, that's for sure.

Turns back to look at Tony, he wants to see the expression on his face as he utters his next few words. "Ziva may be your lawfully wedded wife, but how sure are you that the baby she is carrying is yours?" David is satisfied to see the uncertainty flicker over Tony's face.

"The remarkable thing about technology is how easily it is for a governmental agency to create a new identity when needed. Michael Rivkin may not have been in America at the time of conception – but Yusuf Abdul-Salem? He may well have been."

The director drops the file on the bed and walks out, turning briefly to add: "Shall I tell Doctor Bishop that you have changed your mind about letting her suffer like she is? Apparently there is a 48-hour window period for the decision whether to allow her to die peacefully, or keep her falsely living in this state. Tick-tock Anthony, tick-tock…"

His vicious laughter echoes down the hospital hallway as his footsteps recede.

Tony picks up the file. Opens it, swears loudly, violently. Does something he hasn't done since Ziva was brought into this hospital. Walks out, leaving on her own.

Ducky, coming around the corner sees Tony in an obvious hurry.

"Anthony, Anthony" he calls loudly. But Tony ignores him. Keeps on walking, striding, marching.

Shaking his head in confusion, Ducky moves into Ziva's room. Stands over her, concern in his weathered eyes as he brushes the hair back from her face. A flash of white catches his attention. He bends his creaking body, picking up the discarded photograph discarded under her bed. Carefully unfolds it. He drinks in the in the laughter in the couple's faces, the glint of their rings, eyes only for each other. Feels a bit like a voyeur peering at this intimate, private moment.

"I just hope these two souls find their way back to each other." Places the folded photograph in his jacket pocket for safe-keeping. Sighs heavily. Sits in the empty chair by her bed and opens the dog-eared copy of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. "Now Ziva my dear, where were we?"

* * *

Tony storms into the bullpen, thunder in his stride. "Probie, check this out. See if it's possible, or if this is just Eli David's way of mess'n with my head."

Drops the file on McGee's desk.

"Tony, what is going on?" Gibbs asks quietly, calmly.

"It seems Rivkin was in the country way before we realized. Eight months, three days and 14 hours to be exact. Well, at least his alias was," he spits out. Turning to McGee he barks, "And when you've done doing that, check the mobile number against calls made to and from Ziva's phone."

McGee wide-eyed looks over to Gibbs, who nods his confirmation.

Tony paces, stopping only when McGee clears his throat nervously. "Erm… It seems that Director David was telling the truth. Rivkin, well, at least, Rivkin's alter-ego was here just over eight months ago." He hesitates…

"Go on, McGee" Gibbs chides.

McGee clears his throat again, tugs uneasily at his collar. "It seems…" hesitates again as Tony looks at him, jaw clenched, jutting out, bug-eyed. "It seems that he was in contact with Ziva, and that… that he made another call to an outside number much, much later that same night," Again, he clears his throat, bending his head briefly from side to side before continuing, his words coming out in a rush. "The signal comes from the tower next to Ziva's apartment."

Tony kicks his filing cabinet, swearing loudly. Looking over at Gibbs and McGee, his fists clenched at his sides, he seems resigned: "Well, that puts a different spin on everything doesn't it? That baby… that baby may be Rivkin's bastard… Guess its decision-making time."

Turns on his heel and leaves the bullpen, without saying another word.


	5. Chapter 5 Of Heart and Soul

**Chapter five: Of heart and soul and everything in-between**

"Anything?" Gibbs asks gruffly as he enters the bullpen, his perfunctory coffee in hand.

A smattering of heads shake an emphatic no. Gibbs swears under his breath, DiNozzo has now been out of contact for close on eleven hours. And Gibbs rule number 3 has been totally ignored: Never, ever, be unreachable. McGee quickly turns his attention back to his screen, his lips moving silently as his fingers flicker over the keyboard – his thoughtful pose.

The lift doors glide open; Abby bobbles out, her knees knocking together in her haste to get to Gibbs. "Have you found Tony? 'Cos I tried, and tried and tried. And now his phone is off, and I have looked everywhere but I don't know where he is. And Ducky doesn't know where he is. And he hasn't been back to see Ziva. And that is bad, that is really, really bad…"

Stopping to take a deep breath, she continues, quietly, questioningly, beseechingly: "You don't think that he will… that he is considering… that Ziva…" she stutters, not wanting to voice the words she is thinking, because saying them out loud, makes it more real. Makes her feel she is somehow betraying Tony, just by having these thoughts.

McGee looks from Abby to Gibbs, waiting for him to say something, anything. Gibbs, sighs, walks over to where Abby stands, tear-stained. Takes both her hands in his and looks deep into her eyes. "Leave him," he says quietly, firmly, sternly. "This is a decision that he must make and he alone. He may be impetuous, at times arrogant, and well, somewhat lacking in self-control, but he has a good heart and a strong character. He will do what needs to be done.

He is talking to her, but his words are not meant for her alone, as McGee realizes. Abby breathes a sigh of relief, and McGee's face flushes a tell-tale red – shame-faced he drops his gaze to his keyboard again, scratching his nail against the worn indentations.

Gibbs' diatribe is broken by the ringing of his phone, he answers, turning away briefly as he takes in the words being uttered in disbelief on the other side of the line. His face blanches and he shakes his head violently. "Right, well then, we know what we need to do. Still no sign of DiNozzo?"

He listens for a few seconds then adds resigned: "Thank you for letting me know, Ducky. Keep me posted."

Turns round, almost falling over Abby and McGee who have crept up behind him, concern wrinkled into their features.

He growls and they step back immediately, landing in a tangled heap. Gibbs glances up, sees Vance standing overhead, gestures for him to join them.

"Got a bit of a situation. Apparently there is a time frame on Ziva and the baby. Decision whether to keep her alive, or…" he stumbles over the words, thinking of the woman who has become almost a daughter to him, the woman he wasn't there for, just like he wasn't there for Shannon or Kelly.

"Or switch off the machines. Apparently the decision affects treatment for both from here on out, to ensure that the baby is as healthy as possible. Apparently, Director David has managed to find a way through the legal minefield and if Tony isn't at the hospital by 7pm tomorrow evening, the decision will be made for him. And if Tony chooses for Ziva to live, he has to decide on the baby's future – whether he wants to keep her, or whether he whether he wants to put her up for adoption. David has decided to lay claim to the baby, should that happen - he believes that she is Rivkin's and the daughter of two assassins will make a nice addition to Mossad's future army."

"But how, how is that even possible? We have to find Tony and find him now. What's going to happen Gibbs? What's going to happen?" Fresh tears streak down Abby's cheeks. "Poor Ziva and poor baby. Do you think she really is Rivkin's? Do you think that is possible? And Tony hates Rivkin. Does that mean he will give the baby to Director David? And who trains a baby for Mossad, anyway?"

Vance and Gibbs just raise their eyebrows.

"Um… does the name Ziva ring a bell? If Director David has done it once, what's to stop him from doing it again? Plus this time, he will have learnt from Ari and Ziva's failures," McGee mutters. "What?" he adds defensively, feeling three sets of eyes on him. "I'm just saying what you are all thinking."

"Nuff speculating; get searching. We don't have much time," Gibbs orders as they all scatter.

* * *

Palmer skids into the evidence garage. Darts his eyes nervously from side-to-side before moving forward, making sure not to spill the two cups of hot liquid clenched in his hands. Checking to see if the other techs are occupied on their current assignment, he sidles up to the wall, slides along, until he finds what he is looking for.

There in the corner, hidden in the shadows, he can make out a form: silent, huddled, forlorn.

Without a word he holds the cup out. Grey-green eyes rimmed in red peer up at him, a mere nod of thanks is all that can be mustered. Taking this as a sign, Palmer slides onto the floor next to Tony, takes a large loud gulp of his own drink. And waits…

Tony takes his time, sipping his drink slowly. It's the first thing he has had in close on 16 hours and as the coffee hits his stomach, it bubbles rancid with his thoughts. He takes a staggering breath and another sip, willing his body and mind to calm down. The second, third, forth sip slides down, sits better, easier.

"How did you know where to find me? None of the others did," he comments, curious rather than accusatory.

Palmer just grins, pushes his glasses up higher onto the bridge of his nose.

Tony continues without waiting for an answer. "So, did you hear? Turns out that I'm probably not a dad after all. Kind of disappointed to be honest with you. Although, I would have made a crappy father and even crappier role model. Probably would have forgotten to feed the kid or something…" he trails off.

And from Palmers' oversized lab coat pocket, a bottle of whiskey appears. He pours a generous amount into Tony's half-empty coffee cup.

"Aahh, Ducky's medicinal stash," Tony acknowledges, with a nod, draining the contents. Holds out his cup out to Palmer, nudging him gently for more.

They sit quietly, sipping.

"So, what do I do? Forget that Ziva lied to me? Deceived me? Kept me in the dark? I mean, it's not as if we are even on speaking terms at the moment. And, well, she never did get over the fact I killed Rivkin. Got the feeling that she would have preferred to see me dead, rather than him. Kind of a sobering thought, I tell you. Now I know why. So much for happy families, huh?" He snorts loudly, all the anger and self-loathing spewing out.

"I should done something sooner. You know that saying: 'if you love something let it go?' Guess I was worried if I did that she would fly away - the free spirit she is – fly away and I would never get her back."

Holds up the cup again, a warm, burning sensation is starting to take over the cold, chilled space where his heart used to be.

He turns his bleary eyes towards Palmer. "But, then again, she was never mine to begin with, was she?" he whispers softly.

"And yet, I kept hoping. Ironic really. Me, who doesn't believe in this forever stuff… who managed quite well thank you for many, many productive years with warm willing bodies whose names I can't remember, whose faces I vaguely remember. Me, who thought that a meaningful relationship was one that included dinner and maybe even a movie before sex… I am the one who is all sentimental, who is hoping for that infamous happy ever after…" Crunches his cup between his hands, emphasizing his point.

He tries to stand up, using Palmer's shoulder as leverage. Stumbles and falls heavily onto him. Palmer groans loudly, but Tony manages to right himself, stay on his feet this time. He reaches into his pocket, finds the gold rings, one nestled inside the other.

"Forever is overrated Palmer. Love is overrated. It just hurts to damn much…" Stands, swaying, staring at his feet. "And now, I need to make a decision – kill her and that bastard's spawn – or let them live? What choice is that? And even If I do choose life, who is to say that she will survive? Recover? Be the same Ziva we knew? And, quite frankly – do I really want the recriminations? Those dark, dark eyes glaring and staring at me day after day? And then there is the child to consider."

He rocks on his feet, his fingers playing with the rings, stares with a vacant look in his eyes. "He's right you know?"

"Who? Gibbs?" Palmer is confused, wonders if perhaps he overdid it with that last tot.

Tony just shakes his head tiredly. "Yeah, him too, but I was talking about Ziva's sperm donor."

"Rivkin?" Now Palmer is completely lost. He scratches his head.

"Nah, the Director, her so-called father. The man that gave her life, the man that took it away, is trying to take it away. What kind of a monster sends his own flesh and blood – his daughter for crying out loud, into a death trap?"

And Palmer, realizing that this is not a question that needs an answer, stays silent.

"But," Tony sighs heavily. "He is right. Ziva… Ziva wouldn't want to live like this. She is a warrior, a fighter. She would want to end life on her terms – not lying in some hospital bed wasting away."

He rocks on his heels again, hands still firmly jammed in his pocket.

"You know, Palmer. Ziva once told me that she would never be caught alive. That she had seen what they do to people like her and that she didn't want to live like that. Maybe, just maybe for once I should listen to her, to her wishes. Maybe, just maybe it will be better for everyone involved, if I just give the order to switch off the machines. If you love something – let it go right?"

"NO!" Palmer scrambles to his feet, a little amazed himself how his usually timid voice echoes off the walls. Breathing deeply, he puts his hands on Tony's shoulders: looks him in the eye. "You are a good person, maybe a little confused at times, maybe a little lost. But you know what you want to do. This isn't anyone's decision except yours and you have to live with the consequences, either way. Think about that."

Tony smiles sadly, lifts Jimmy's hands off his shoulders and gives them a squeeze. "I already have. There is no other answer. There is really only one thing I can do. It is what she would have wanted, what she wants. "

With this, he turns, stumbles slightly and walks away, a little unsteady. Jimmy feels the warm metal in his hand, unfurls his fingers. Sees the two gold rings, one fitting completely within the other. He sighs, stares after Tony's retreating form and shakes his head. The decision has been made.

* * *

Abby, the happiest Goth, is anything but happy. It's nearing 7pm and there is still no sign of Tony. She continues her pacing, chains jangling, jingling as she marches past Ziva's hospital door, turns and makes her way back again.

Gibbs sits in the chair he has claimed as his own, next to him is Stacey. She came off shift three hours previously, but can't tear herself away. She doesn't know why she has become so attached to this motley crew, this strange family, but she has. The crazy Goth angel who doesn't seem to have a middle line – loving or loathing with equal passion. The quieter younger agent they call Probie, with his technical talk and informed logic, his tiny notebook always at the ready, licking his pencil like a child as the ideas fling themselves onto his page. And then there is the good old doctor – who rambles and shares – the man who has lived a full life with no regret.

And don't forget the reason they are here – watching out for the good-looking kid who has had to grow up way to fast, and has spent most of his adulthood trying to reclaim that he was denied as a child; quick with a joke, an inappropriate word – it is expected of him – but the grin, the forced, faked laughter doesn't quite match his eyes. And when he thinks they are not watching, looking, he stares with such tenderness at the woman who sleeps in the bed, oblivious to what is happening around her. Stacey gets the feeling that she wouldn't like the attention, that she would be embarrassed, unsure, if she knew. The feisty, headstrong woman who refuses to lie down and die.

She wonders how much is romanticized fantasy, and how much has foundation in reality. Each of them has a story to tell: the legend of Ziva - her knife as sharp as her tongue. Could kill you where you stand before you even realized she is there. But despite the stories of blood and death, their eyes light up when they talk of her, and Stacey knows that she must have been one hell of a woman.

But, if Stacey was to be honest with herself, perhaps it is the draw of the man sitting next to her that keeps her here. She can feel the heat of his leg, despite the gap between them. His eyes are hard, distant, sad – he has lived the lives of many and suffered – she can see that. And she wonders what it would be like to see those eyes burn with passion; soften with love.

The jingle-jangle clump, clump stops, abruptly, pulling Stacey out of her musings. Her face reddens slightly as she remembers why they are here. What they are waiting for.

Abby's head zips round, her thin braids whipping McGee who has idly ambling behind her. Footsteps hasten around the corner, a collective breath is held, and then released as Jimmy walks towards them.

"Still no Tony, where is he? What is he doing? He won't let her die will he? He just won't. " Abby mutters, beginning pacing again.

"Umm, actually, he might," Jimmy reveals, then wonders why his sanity left him. Abby glares, indignation radiating off her. In two strides she has him pushed up against the wall, breathing heavily. Jimmy gulps audibly. Swallows his fear, stutters his response. Explains that he saw Tony, yesterday, and that well, Tony gave him the impression that it was Ziva's wish to die, and he, Tony would comply. Abby gasps, the fight leaves her, releasing her hold on Jimmy, she spins into McGee's waiting arms and he soothes her with indistinguishable words, her sobs echoing down the corridor.

"So, young Anthony has come to his senses, has he?" Director David questions, appearing silently – another trait he shares with his daughter, Gibbs thinks to himself.

"I thought that would be the case, and well, to be honest, I am not surprised. I never did think he had much backbone, much valor. Never quite got what my daughter saw in him, to be frank. Perhaps she was merely entertaining herself."

Sneakers squeak on the pristine floors and they all look up to see Tony running towards them. Flecks of pink and purple paint speckle his shirt, his hair, his skin. His left thumb, bloody and bandaged, a rucksack slung over his arm. He looks exhausted, but there is an air of… determination and…relief?

"The Director's right." He says, leaning over, the rucksack tumbling to the ground as he tries to catch his breath. "I have made my decision. And I know, it's not what she wants. But it's what is right, it's what I have to do."

Noticing Stacey, he moves over to her, collapses on the empty chair to her left. "I wasn't sure what was needed. But, the shop assistant seemed to think this would be okay for now." Opens the rucksack, pulling out tiny vests, baby clothes, a hat, disposable diapers, wipes, bottles and pacifiers.

He looks up at the team, "You see, they have this list, and I got two of everything. Just to be sure. Painted the room. Just need a cot Boss, hoping you can help with that?"

Gibbs nods, satisfied, proud. Leans over Stacey and slaps Tony on the shoulder. "Good decision. Good decison."

"For the baby? Does that mean you are going to do the paternity test?" Abby asks, smiling through her tears.

"No." Tony responds. "Someone," he looks over to Palmer. "Made me realize that biology does not a father make."

He turns his heavy gaze to Director David. "You of all people must resonate with that."

He continues unabated. "It doesn't matter to me whose blood runs through this baby's veins, all that matters is what her last name is going to be, and that I am going to be with her every step of the way. I want to be the one that takes her to ballet, and teaches her that her team will not always win at soccer. I want to be there to wipe her tears when her heart first breaks; then break the face of the jerk who dared to do so. I want to be the one to walk her down the aisle when she gets married. I know that I am going to make plenty of mistakes. But they are my mistakes to make. This child may not have originated from me, but that doesn't matter. This baby is mine. She is mine and nothing any of you say will change that."

"What do you know about raising children?" Director David splutters. "This is preposterous. And have you even considered Ziva and what she would want? She wouldn't want to be kept alive like this, you know that…"

And Tony, being Tony cannot resist: "Of course, I may not know how to be a good parent, but I certainly know how to avoid becoming a bad parent – you and my father saw to that, Director David. And as for Ziva. I agree. She wouldn't want to live like this, but she was… is… a warrior. She may have the skills of killer, but she is selfless – she always put others first. And, I think, she would understand."

He walks into Ziva's room, pulls the chair up next to her bed and rests his head on her chest - the steady thump, thump of her heart still beating tells him all he needs to know. And she sleeps on.


	6. Chapter 6 Between Here and There

Disclaimer: Don't own the show, the characters or their story lines. Oh, and I don't own Jane Austen or Pride and Prejudice. I can only lay claim to my own, extremely vivid imagination.

A/N: I am so very sorry for leaving you hanging mid-story – but my internet decided to have a slight disagreement with my computer. All is sorted once more – Don't you love technology! Okay… So, I have tried something slightly different here – I hope it works for you and I manage to convey what I set out to convey..... (okay, so a little nervous about this one)

**Chapter six: Between Here and There**

Ziva David does not know where she is. Somewhere between here and there, she surmises. Stuck in limbo. Her limbs oh-so-heavy, yet feathery light. How is this even possible, she wonders? And, more to the point – what is this holding cell she finds herself in: Has she been trapped underwater, is she ensnared in a cave? Heaven? Hell?

Does she know? Does she even care? And what is caring anyway? Love. Hate. Hope. Despair. Anger. Rage. Comfort. Clarity. Emotions. Feelings. Does she have them? Does she even want them?

Perhaps, she is dreaming. She tries to latch onto the fleeting thoughts, images that flutter on the edges, light delicate butterflies. There is no concept of time. There is no light, no dark, no night, no day. Just random scenes. One rolling, crashing, melding into the other.

Some glint and sparkle; others dark and tarnished.

Some make her want to scream, yell, rage against the machine. But she cannot. Her body is heavy as lead. As much as she wants stand, fight, challenge that which holds her captive… Her body argues, rebels against her. Fists of lead, legs of steel. She is rooted, bolted, anchored to this spot.

Faces blend one into the other: those who she has fought beside, and those she has fought; those she has left behind, those who have left her. Her enemies. Her allies. Her family. Her team. Nightmares she cannot escape.

She hears her father's voice – harsh words that spit and burn against her skin. His face distorts, becomes another, this one sneering and snarling. A raised hand. A closed fist. Blood splatters, bones crack and pain, oh, so much pain.

But. She endures. She cannot move; she cannot fight. Opens her mouth, a silent scream. She begs for someone to hear her, rescue her, to lead her out of the tunnel, to pull her out from under the water.

Sometimes, the nightmares blur, recede, fade. And from this prison; wherever she may be, she feels…wanted, needed, cherished even. Sometimes, as words fly into her conscious on dulcet tones of a spirited Scotts' man, she believes that she is a character in one of her favorite books. Austen… something Austin... Pride and… pride and… oh… this is too hard.

She is her favourite character: Elizabeth Bennet… Lizzy… Her body aching for her Mr Darcy, who drives her demented, makes her contented with a single look, a single word. Mr Darcy, with his strong shoulders, his loving hands, his face always in the shadows… There is a feeling she gets around him – sometimes so exasperating she wants to kick, scream, punch, pinch – just to see how he will react. All it takes is a single look– those eyes that burrow right into her soul. That knowing stare has her flushing with excitement, in anticipation: hot, pulsating breaths, dirty words whispered behind closed doors. And sometimes, just sometimes she is overwhelmed with the sheer intensity and insanity of it all – the tenderness – yes, tenderness that floods her. Mr Darcy to her Lizzy.

And in these moments, as the storyboards sift and shift through her mind, other characters from a life long past filter in. Mr Bennet, with the familiar weathered look of a man she knows well – whose crinkly blue eyes alternate between melancholy and humor. He is protective in nature, wants what's best for her. He doesn't believe Mr Darcy is the answer. Although, she, at least, the Lizzy-version of her, questions this. The heart wants what the heart wants right? And she watches her friend, her sister, tall, with blood-red lips, pale skin and dark, dark eyes, doting over a man who bumbles and blusters, who cannot see what is exactly in front of him. But love is worth it isn't it, this exquisite pain?

This alternate reality is so explicit, the images that dance through her dreams so vivid, that she can smell, feel, taste them. Almost believes in them. Almost…

Sometimes, other visions, feelings, emotions fill her. And, in these moments her limbs don't feel of rock, of stone. She is safe, secure, protected. She is worthy. She is whole. Soft breath; mint mingling with sweet, milky coffee; whispers over her skin - prickling, puckering. Words hang in the air ever-so-lightly. And as she tries to will her tired, tired arms to reach out, grasp them – they are gone. Before she can understand them, process them.

She knows that they must important and she tries so hard, so very hard, to move towards that ethereal being she is drawn to. But something holds her back, anchors her, keeping her from reaching the surface. She wants. No, needs to see the face that hovers on the periphery.

All she knows is that she needs to hold on, to fight through this confusion, this darkness. Sometimes she is so tired, so very tired that all she wants to do is to stop treading water, stop moving through this endless tunnel. She just wants it all to disappear, to simply float away and not think, not dream, not hope.

But there is a pulsing, a drum beat, just below her ribs. She is responsible, dependable. She has to stay strong. She needs to keep moving forward towards the outstretched hands, those comforting arms, that open heart.

Ziva David is stuck somewhere between here and there. The problem is, she doesn't know where that is. And so, she waits.


	7. Chapter 7 Life's lessons learnt

A/N: First off – I am so sorry for not updating sooner. I understand completely if you don't read this… or decide not to review....to punish me!

All I can do is promise that I will not leave you hanging like that again. My only excuse is that work has been crazy, crazy busy although I know that this is not much of an excuse…(hangs head in shame) Anyhoo… here with the next chapter and updates will be more regular (bad me.. bad, bad me…)

**Chapter seven: Life lessons**

Life slipped into a routine of sorts. Abby or Ducky took it in turns to visit her everyday - Ducky continued to read to her, while Abby chatted on about what was happening at NCIS.

Even Jimmy managed to slip in ever so often, although he was careful not to sit too close to the bed. Even though she was asleep, with that peaceful look on her face, she still intimated the hell out of him.

Each night, Gibbs, McGee and Tony would walk into her hospital room, the smell of Indian, or Greek, or Chinese lingering in the air as they pulled their chairs closer to her bed, unpacking their takeaway containers.

They would good-naturedly joke with each other. Or, if there was a particularly intense case they were dealing with, they would rehash the information, bouncing ideas off each other, over her still prone body.

Their favorite game became – "What would Ziva say?" - And more often than not, those silent campfires would spark an idea or thought that would have plastic forks or chopsticks dropping with a clatter.

The three of them would jump up, grab the leftovers and scurry out the room.

Tony would always come back though, gently kissing Ziva's forehead before racing down the passageway to join the others.

Some nights, Stacey would join them, either as she was coming off shift, or going on. And some nights, she just joined them… because she couldn't tear herself away.

And those nights, they didn't delve into the darkness of their current lives, but rather, spoke of the people they once were.

They shared that Ziva favored tequila and vodka over beer and wine. That she read, extensively, but once took an American film class to improve her Americanisms – or so she said. (Tony still claims that it was his influence.)

That at one point or another – every agent at NCIS had faced the wrath of Ziva and that it was an uncomfortable place to be. That more often than not – the deep, meaningful conversations held between the dark-haired woman and her sometimes moronic partner (his words, not Gibbs') were in the men's toilets.

That Tony was an arrogant goof who charmed his way around everyone – but was still the best investigator Gibbs had ever trained. That he hid behind this act, and only a few choice people knew how insecure he actually was – one of which is currently lying in the bed.

That if Gibbs called for a meeting in his office, the team immediately headed for the elevator, no questions asked. That on particularly bad days, it was preferable to come into the bullpen armed with the swill Gibbs drank almost intravenously. An angry Ziva is bad enough, but an angry Gibbs?

That Abby drove a hearse and slept in a coffin, but was truly the happiest Goth you would ever meet, who wore her heart and her emotions where every one could see them.

That Ducky had a million stories tucked up his sleeve about his miss-spent youth - stories that he shared with such candor, simply rolling off his tongue, when the subject matter should have the listeners' hair standing on end. That the team often looked like they were simply placating the elderly man, but they all secretly loved his tales of old.

That McGee with all his geekiness and elfdom and turtle necks was a silent warrior, a cyber hacker and well-respected author who received bagfuls of fan mail on a daily basis, yet still had the good nature not to rub it in Tony's face (although he knows his team-mate and good friend wouldn't have the same consideration).

That each and every member of "team Gibbs" would willingly, and without thought or question lay down their life for the other.

It was one such night, as Tony elbowed McGee out of his way to get the last slice of pizza, when Stacey broached the subject: the hospital was offering antenatal classes and would Tony be interested? He raised an eyebrow. "But isn't that more for pregnant women and no offense, mine is kinda sleeping on the job at the moment…" s

Stacey met Gibbs' eyes over the bed, smiled. "Perhaps, to a degree, but these classes can help you prepare for life after your baby arrives. Things like changing nappies, feeding and sleeping schedules, how to read the crying signs, bathing… Birth is just a small part of these classes."

Tony sighed. "Didn't even think of all that. But, Stacey," he whined, "Aren't there going to be all couples, and pregnant women. Wouldn't I look a little out of place and perhaps even a little dodgy?"

McGee snorted. "Tony, you can't help looking dodgy – it's who you are…"

Tony tossed his dirty serviette at him growling under his breath. "Watch it Probie-licious – and you don't look somewhat shady, dressed in that polo neck of yours?"

"Hay, you know very well this is my writing outfit and I fully intend on putting in a few hours on my novel when I get home." McGee retorted prickly.

Just as Tony was about to make another comment, Gibbs' hands snuck out, smacking them both on the back of the head.

"Ignore these two buffoons. Continue what you were going to say Stacey…

"Owww… deserved that boss," Tony muttered, turning his attention back to Stacey.

She smiled: "I know the midwife, Kiasha who hosts the antenatal classes; I will put in a good word for you." She said, standing up and straightening her skirt. "Time for my shift. Night Tim, Thanks again for dinner Jethro, meet you for coffee in the morning? And Tony, I will check on you two later." Left the room.

Tony turned to Gibbs, eyebrow raised, a smirk on his face. "Something you want to share with us boss?" Gibbs just stared at Tony, who lifted his own hand and smacked his head. "None of my business, Boss. Shutting up now."

* * *

Kiasha kicks the tyre again. Flat. And the spare is in to be fixed. She lifts her arm, looking at the slim watch on her wrist. She is going to miss her first antenatal class. Sighing she pulls out her phone, flicks it open and dials.

"Daphne, fantastic, glad I caught you. Sorry to do this, but I need a huge favor…"

* * *

Daphne grunts as the phone starts slipping, she shifts the two paper bags of groceries and tries to hear what Kiasha is saying, without dropping her house keys.

"Uhhuh, uhhuh, yes ok, did you say Tony? Okay, no problem," she squeaks as she losses grip on the phone.

Managing to get the apartment door open, she drops her groceries onto the table and sinks into the chair. She hasn't fully heard what Kiasha was trying to tell her – all she got was that Kiasha needs for her to cover the antenatal class, and something about a guy named Tony and unusual circumstances…

Oh well, she thinks, she has nothing better to do this evening.

* * *

Tony grimaces again. Cracks his knuckles and tilts his head from side to side, trying to loosen the tense muscles.

Without opening his eyes, Gibbs mutters: "Don'tcha have some place to be DiNozzo?"

Tony grimaces again, looks over to Gibbs' leaning back in the chair, arms behind his head, his feet resting on the bed.

"Do I have too?" he asks plaintively.

McGee's fingers hover over his laptop keyboard. He looks up at Tony. "Want some company?" he asks honestly, straight-forward. No malice or sympathy in his voice.

Tony stares at him. "Seriously? You would do that – for me?"

McGee smiles softly. "For Ziva. Someone has to keep you in line."

"I don't care who goes with you – but you had better get your arse there now before I kick it there…" Gibbs utters, his eyes still firmly shut.

* * *

The door to the conference room is closed. Tony grabs the handle as McGee slides past him, grabbing onto this arm.

They are still grappling with each other as the door opens. Daphne looks on confused as Tony attempts to straighten himself up.

Holds out his hand, introduces himself.

Recognition floods Daphne's face – "Oh yes, Tony. Kiasha told me about you."

Relief floods Tony's face, he doesn't want to have to explain himself.

Daphne looks over to McGee, still clutching onto Tony's arm.

Her mind ticks over - of course – this is what Kiasha must have been trying to tell her. She congratulates herself for her open-mindedness, holds her hands out to both of them and pulls them inside.

"Everyone, meet Tony and…" she leans towards McGee, "Sorry I didn't get your name?"

McGee mutters his name quietly, under his breath.

Daphne smiles, turns back to the group of heavily pregnant women and their partners, and placing her hands lightly on both their shoulders says loudly, brightly:

"Everyone, meet Tony and his partner Tim. They are about to become new parents and are here to learn. I hope you will welcome them."

Six sets of eyes swivel in their direction, as Tony tries to bluster out a denial. Tim just hangs his head and shakes resolutely. "Just go with it Tony, just go with it…"


	8. Chapter 8 Don't forget me

**Disclaimer: same as before - most probably same as next...**

A/N: Thank you for the amazingly awesome reviews. You guys rock (and really make my day- or night - 'cos of the time difference!) Again, as was pointed out to me - If I accidently play a Ziva and mix my Americanisms - I do apologize. While English is my first language - it South African-based. I do try and keep as in tone as possible, but sometimes, just sometimes, something from home slips through. Now... on with the story...finally!

**Chapter eight: Don't forget me**

McGee stands waiting for his turn at the urn, teacup in hand. Tea and cake after _every_ meeting? A definite incentive to return. He watches the hot water pool into his cup, the steam tickles his nose. Lifts his cup to his mouth, and chuckles slightly – his pinky finger is sticking straight up in the air – "Way to go McGee," he thinks to himself – So much for dispelling that he and Tony are a couple. Tony…. Tony… he looks around.

Come to think about it, Tony slipped out of the meeting as soon as it was over, said he wanted, no needed a few minutes – was going to the head and would be right back. That must have been at least 20 minutes ago.

McGee nods politely at the pregnant woman standing next to him. Can't fully remember her name. Thinks it might have been Janie, Jami… Something cute like that.

She smiles sweetly, pulls her pastel button-down cardigan over her burgeoning belly. Rubs it gently. The look of complete satisfaction, of bliss, on her face. And the puzzle pieces that had been shifting around in his head fall stunningly into place.

"What an idiot," he mutters under his breath. Excuses himself quickly, dumps his half-drunk tea, exits the room.

Janie (he was right the first time) furrows her brow at his retreating back, turns to her sister. "He seems sweet. A little strange. But very sweet."

Maxine shrugs her shoulders. "His partner, Tony is it? A little rude if you ask me. Good looking, I'll give him that. But still a bit of an ass. Just sat there in the corner, his arms folded. Looked like he was sleeping at one stage. Honestly, if he didn't want to listen, why is he even here? At least pretend to be interested." She rolls her eyes dramatically, flicking her chestnut hair over her shoulder as Janie giggles in response.

* * *

McGee rushes down the empty hallway, shoes squeaking. "How can anyone lose themselves in a hospital?" He grits his teeth, backs up, apologizes again, having disturbed yet another patient.

He finally finds him. Sitting on a bench outside in the darkness, jacket pulled up to his ears.

Tony lifts his head slowly. His eyes dark, saddened. "This is not the way it's supposed to be, Probie," he says softly.

McGee snorts. "To be honest Tony, when I envisaged going to antenatal classes, my birthing partner was a lot less hairy and a lot less male."

This draws the faintest smile from Tony, who cannot resist: "You have envisaged going to antenatal classes? What red-blooded male envisages going to antenatal classes? Actually… McSensitive, don't answer that question."

He drops his head again. "But that's the whole point Tim, isn't it?" And McGee hears the catch, the tremble in his voice.

"I sat there, in that room, with all those happy pregnant women, listening about how their bodies are changing as this life grows inside of them. What they can expect to experience, what they will be feeling. Ziva… Tim…Ziva should have been sitting in the room, rubbing her belly contentedly. She should have been rolling her eyes, elbowing me painfully in the stomach when Daphne explained how we men need to be tolerant of their mood swings. She should have tilted her head – you know that look she gets when she is all thoughtful and concentrating – when we were shown that diagram of how her body will change and shift, her organs moving to fit her growing child. She should have been there. She should have been there." He lifts his head, his red-rimmed eyes meeting McGee's, voice thick with anguish: "I don't think I can do this without her. It's just too damn hard, Tim," he drops his head again, shaking it. "Too damn hard."

* * *

Tony doesn't want to go back to the antenatal classes. He has refused point blank and no amount of encouragement from Stacey or chiding from Ducky has helped. He paces past Ziva's room. Halters. Falters. Hesitates.

McGee sighs, heavily. Gives him kick in the pants - literally.

Tony turns, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, dumbfounded, astounded that he even dared. Not even Gibbs would do that…

"Grow. Up. Tony." McGee spits out angrily. "I know this is hard on you… it's hard on all of us. But you need to do this – for her," McGee points back to Ziva's silent room. "For that baby she is carrying and most of all…for you."

He knows McGee is speaking sense, but still. It hurts. Like hell. Would prefer to be interrogated by Agent Sacks, again. Would prefer to be framed for murder, again. And that is saying something.

He hangs his head, resigned, growls: "Fine. But you are coming with me. No man left behind, remember."

"I don't think that was quite what Gibbs meant," McGee mutters. But he still hurries to catch up.

* * *

Tony sits in corner of the room, sandwiched between Pam and Carmen, tongue sticking out, concentrating as he scribbles the instructions they are giving him down in his notepad.

Finished, he looks around the room and smiles. Ziva would like this crazy, mixed up bunch of people. This is the part of the antenatal classes he likes best – the socializing afterwards. McGee likes the cake, particularly when Pam makes the one with lemon curd filling and vanilla frosting – with sprinkles.

But, for Tony, listening to the stories is the highlight – and they all had them. Makes him feel more…normal, somehow.

And later, when he returns to the quiet of Ziva's darkened room, he crawls into bed next to her. His whispers tickle her ear, pucker her skin, as her eyes remain firmly, tightly shut. And, with the moon streaming in through her open window, he shares with her what she has missed:

Pam, he describes, is a healthy-sized, loud, busty woman, currently pregnant with her third child. Had her first at 17, her second at 19 – now in her mid-forties – she had thought that she was going through early menopause. Would account for all her symptoms, she had declared. Imagine her surprise (and her hulking husband, John's) when she discovered she was four months pregnant. So, here she is – getting a refresher course in parenting.

After her initial shock, she says she has enjoyed her pregnancy. "Finally getting a girl – nice to balance the odds a bit," she guffaws. John, in his plaid shirts, jeans and work boots, doesn't talk much. Simple nods, says "Umhumm" . At 52, he is the oldest in the group. "When the Missus said there was news, thought I was going to be a granddaddy. Imagine my surprise to hear I'm gonna be a daddy again. Mighty frightening, but s'pose exciting too," he admitted quietly to Tony once. And Tony, awkwardly, patted his shoulder: "I hear ya."

At 16, Dani is the youngest of the group, barely more than a kid herself. Skinny, with lanky dyed black hair, she reminds Tony of a younger Abby. Her dark red chipped nails nervously scratch her arms and she jiggles her knee – black woolen stockings covering long skinny legs that end in enormously oversized boots. Her boyfriend, 19-year-old Dread, with his stringy long hair, multiple piercings and torn jeans, looks like he would sooner run that stick around a pregnant teenage girlfriend. But, appearances are deceiving as Tony well knows. Under the exterior lies a gentle soul, a classically-trained violinist, a poet. He dreams of becoming a teacher – level the playing field, so to say. Show his students that it doesn't matter where you come from, what you look like, who you are.

Dani, so young, so broken, the scars on her wrists are testament to that. Once she believed sex equated love and gave both with equal enthusiasm. Until Dread. She says he taught her what family really means, that she is worthy, that she means something, that she is more than just a shadow.

And, Dread, eyes her with tenderness, rubs his hand over her back, says that while perhaps things have happened a little faster than planned – he knows she is the one, has always been the one, would one day be the mother of his children. Tony is amazed: they are so young, yet already so old. Show more maturity than he does at his age, that's for sure, he mutters to Ziva in the dark.

Then there is Janie. Sweet, sweet Janie, with her twin sets and pearls, ivory league education and country club mannerisms. Her husband, Ben, is a marine currently stationed overseas. And, whispers Janie quietly as she rubs her large belly, her blue eyes big, delicate tears threatening to slip over her lashes, she wonders: "Will he ever get to see his son?"

Her twin sister Maxine, with her slate grey piercing eyes, stiletto heels and smart business suits, is her birthing partner. More at home in a boardroom, than lounging in a hospital conference room. Her acerbic tongue could probably draw blood and Tony fantasizes who would win in the battle of words – her or Ziva. And mentally, he head slaps himself.

His voice breaks, catches as he talks of the next couple. Memories safely boxed away, pulled violently into the front of his mind. He can see her last smile, taste her blood: Kate. Beautiful, conservative, cautious Kate.

Carmen reminds him of Kate – eerily so. From her stylishly cropped brown hair and sparkling brown eyes, to her strong posture and the way she glances just ever so slightly down her nose. And if this wasn't coincidence enough, the father of her child cements the deal. Tall, with piercing blue eyes and silvery hair, Joshua's ex-FBI now running his own private eye business. Carmen is his partner – at work and in bed. What's that word given to those who look close enough to be twins but aren't? Doppelgangers… that's what they are. The reality of what could have been.

Oh yes, he admits now to Ziva, he teased Kate, ran his eyes up and down her body, made inappropriate comments – because that is what he did, what was expected of him. But their relationship was more like that of siblings than would-be lovers.

Their boss – now that was a different story. It's funny, he had always wondered about Kate and Gibbs. The glances that lingered a little too long, the quiet comments, the easiness. The pain that clouded Gibbs' eyes once more, as yet another lover was torn from his grasp.

And watching Carmen and Joshua, he sees what could have been, and what was violently taken away. And he cannot help but feel torn. Had Kate lived, would this be her and Gibbs in that room, Gibbs cradling her growing belly, his eyes dancing, twinkling as Kate smiles at him.

Had Kate lived…

Had Kate lived, Tony knows they would never have met her... Ziva. There wouldn't have been a need for her to make herself known, would there? She would have stayed in the background, the shadows. Ari's control officer. Had Kate lived.

And, he cautiously voices in the darkness - spilling his previously unspoken words that have been burning in his gut since he walked into that very first antenatal class - is he so wrong to be grateful that she didn't?


	9. Chapter 9 Life changes everything

**Disclaimer: Same as before; same as the next**

A/N: Finally! Happy New Year everyone....

**Chapter nine:** **Life changes everything**

The call came through while he was out in the field. Stands with his mouth agape, the phone dangling in his hands. Gibbs looks up from where he was busy interviewing, shakes his head. He knows that look all to well. He was already a man down in the team. Wasn't so much that he couldn't bear to replace Ziva, in as much as she was irreplaceable. Perhaps, in his mind, it would be almost like giving up on her, on the idea that she couldn't, wouldn't survive. Perhaps it just made things a little too real, too permanent. And perhaps, it was he couldn't find an agent, temporary or not, that could last out a week with his merry band of goons.

Watching Tony now, he knows that whether he likes it or not, he will have to get a temp in. Tony will be no use to them in this state – good investigator or not. Sighing again, he excuses himself from the neighbor (who hadn't seen or heard anything anyway and could only say that the recently deceased was a quite sort who didn't cause any trouble, whatsoever, until now of course…) He makes his way over to where his younger agent still stands, unsure, uncertain, fearful.

"This is it boss," Tony looks shaken as Gibbs walks up. "Do I hold on, or do I let go?"

* * *

It was a few days previously that Tony had been called into the doctor's conference room. A seemingly routine examination - well, as routine as one gets with comatose women and her growing baby – had resulted in blanched faces and another consult. And now, Tony was sitting in the doctor's conference room. Surrounded by doctors and psychologists and experts, trying to make sense of what they were saying.

This case is a rarity, Dr Bishop explains. Only been a few situations like this in America, and, well, nothing as complicated as what they are facing now. Ziva herself has been in hospital a few weeks now, her wounds and bones healing nicely. And, Dr Bishop adds, looking over to the neurologist who nods his agreement, they are a little flummoxed as to why she hasn't, won't wake up. There doesn't seem to be any injury to her head area, and anything that potentially was there, has had time to heal.

"Perhaps," a rather know-it-all psychologist intones, "she doesn't want to face this new reality after the trauma she has sustained."

His colleague, Dr Hendrick glares at him, before softening her words: "Ziva's coma may be a protective mechanism. She has been trained to withstand so much, and perhaps, her mind has simply gone into hibernation. Fight or flight, right? She simply couldn't fight anymore, so flight of mind is her only recourse."

"But how," and with this Tony licks his very, very dry lips. "How do we wake her up?"

"We don't." is the answer he receives, which isn't the one he is looking for.

"We leave her. She needs to wake up on her own, she needs to decide that she wants to live, to fight," the mousy looking psychologist adds again. Her pompous partner just harrumphs, folds his arms over his own bulging stomach.

"However," Bishop adds, focusing them once more. "There is the small matter at hand."

He explains to Tony, that there have been a handful of cases of comatose mothers who had given birth – some had successful outcomes and some…not so much.

And, with them not knowing Ziva's current status, makes the decision all that much harder. But, either way, the baby is about ready to come out and they need a decision on how this was going to happen. Tony has two choices – natural or c-section. Each with their own risks.

Body-wise, Ziva is healthy enough for a natural birth. Her wounds and bones neatly knitted enough to not cause any lasting damage. Despite being in a coma, her body would go into a natural response. She would go into labor, have contractions and be able to deliver the baby – even if she is not able to feel the contractions and push with them (Which, having sat through several antenatal classes and Pat's own colorful account of her previous births, was a question Tony needed to ask).

They couldn't tell Tony if Ziva would feel the pain of the contractions. "However," Dr Hendrick shares: "There has been research and one or two documented cases world-wide, where childbirth has successfully woken the woman from her coma."

Her dark counterpart, Dr Andrews, is quick to counter: "There have also been documented cases where the mother, having done her duty as the vessel, has died if not during, shortly after the birth. You just need to be prepared."

A cesarean can be done, but with the anesthetic and the surgery involved, at this stage, could be disastrous for both mother and child.

"So, basically, you are telling me, damned if I do, damned if I don't?" Tony asks, frustrated.

Dr Bishop looks over at the others for support and it is Dr James, the younger doctor, who smiles at Tony, lays a calming hand on his shoulder. "Tony, I can't say that we know what you are going through, but we do understand and will do everything we can to ensure as positive an outcome as possible. I guess, the main thing we need clarification on is, if it comes down to it, if we have to make a choice – whose life do we save – your wife or your baby's"

Tony puts his head into his hands. He had made the decision once to keep her alive, could he, would he do it again? The silence in the room is stifling, oppressive even. He stands, paces. Asks if he can go for a walk. Says he needs to clear his head. Life-changing decision and all that.

* * *

He walks out the room, not really looking, seeing where he is going. Finds himself standing outside maternity, pressing his nose against the glass as he watches the newborns within, already showing their personalities. One in particular stands out, a tiny squalling baby, a mop of dark hair, fist clenched. "He's beautiful isn't he?"

Tony turns towards the voice: Dread stands; his own lanky hair tied back, pride in his eyes, as he reaches up his hand and caresses the glass gently. "Born three weeks early, but decided that he was ready to face the world. Had to stay two nights in neonates and was on oxygen. But, he has a fighting spirit."

"It's amazing, you know. How much something so small can change your life irrevocably. Once, I couldn't imagine having him, now, I can't imagine not." Tony claps him on the back.

Pops in to see Dani, her own eyes glowing, the broken nails and damaged puckered skin allowed to heal. She looks young, yet old at the same time. "Did you see him Tony? Our son. Did you see him?" Dread, comes in right behind him, the still squalling baby in his arms. He gently places him in Dani's and he stops crying. Trying to focus on his mother's face, he hiccups slightly and they all laugh.

Brushing Dani's hair back, Dread gently kisses her forehead, then the baby's. "I'll be back later." With one last glance, he leaves the room. Looking up at Tony, Dani utters the same words that Dread had said just a few minutes before. "To be honest," she admits shyly. "I didn't know if I wanted this baby. I considered abortion, adoption – anything but to have this responsibility. But then, we met, and Tony, I cannot imagine life without him. It's going to be hard; there is no doubt about that. But, I like to think he is worth it. Doesn't mean that I am not terrified though!"

Leaning over, and kissing her on the top of the head, Tony whispers: "Thank you."

Just as he is leaving, Pat and her rather large belly bustles in, huffing and puffing, carrying a huge gift basket, blue helium balloons floating above.

"Big John is just parking the car," she says placing the basket down. She shunts Dani across the bed, and heaves her considerable weight next to her: "Now, come here to your Auntie Pat, hunnybun. You and me, gonna be spending lots of time together, so best we meet." She guffaws loudly as she plucks the baby out of his mother's arms."

The last thing Tony hears as he turns the corner is: "You did good Dani Girl, you did good."

Big Jack passes Tony in the corridor, stops to ask how he is, and Tony, smiles weakly. Big Jack tilts his head towards Dani's room before uttering: "Gonna meet the little chap. Pat's already done up a room for the three of them. House was a bit empty now that the boys are all grown, got places of their own. No need for their mama's fuss'n. Community college just down the road, do teacher's training and Dread has the grades to get in. And, we could use the help with the new little one on the way – company for both really." Taking a deep breath, he continues. "Life has a funny way of working out you know. May not be the way you planned, but it works anyhow. Just you know that." Nodding his head, he continues stoically on his way, leaving Tony staring thoughtfully behind him.

* * *

Which is how Tony finds himself standing in the middle of a crime scene, his phone still clutched loosely in his hand: stricken, scared. "Go on, get. Well be there as soon as we can," Gibbs mutters, pushing him gently. "This is your time now, DiNozzo. Be the man she knows you can be." And Tony, still shaken, nods, climbs under the crime scene tape, walks to the car. Turns around again, walks right past where Gibbs has now been joined by Ducky and McGee, to where he has left his rucksack. Pulls his keys out of the front pocket, hoists it onto his shoulder and, without saying a word walks past them again and back to the car. "Got the call," Gibbs says as a way of explanation. McGee's eyes go wide: "Shouldn't I, shouldn't we… shouldn't someone be with him… to support him or something?"

"Nope," Gibbs responds in his no nonsense manner. "We have work to do, and this is something Tony needs to do on his own. We will be there when he needs us. Now get back to doing what needs to be done." As they walk back to their tasks, Gibbs adds under his breath: "Besides, Stacey will keep us updated."

* * *

It is difficult, standing in the corner of the delivery room, wearing the blue scrubs. Ziva on her back, her distended belly protruding, her feet up in stirrups. But there were no blood curdling screams of pain, no threats of bodily harm, if he ever dared to go near her, touch her again. He didn't need to wipe the sweat off her brow, soothe her or calm her. And, this saddened him. He had hoped, a tiny spark of burning need, that as the life which had nestled gently inside of her forced her way violently out with a blood-curdling scream, Ziva would wake from this sleep that had claimed her. But instead, those eyes remained tightly shut, confined in her silent world, the prison she has locked herself in.

And Tony, doesn't know where to look, where his loyalties would best be served: at his new daughter's side as she is weighed, measured and faces her first of many life tests – or by his wife who lies without emotion on her face, her once expression-filled eyes shut tight against him. Dr Bishop quickly checks Ziva's stats. Shakes his head. "It was touch and go there for a few minutes. Her heart rate dropped to a level that concerned us, but she seems to be resting comfortably again. Perhaps, a little too comfortably. I had hoped…" Shakes his head again. "We will keep her in ICU; we want to monitor her for the next 24 hours as this is the critical time. He pushes Tony gently into the chair next to the delivery bed, as Tony frantically tries to peer past him to where they are working on his daughter. She is crying, a mewling sound. That must be good, right?

Dr Bishop steps in front of Tony again. "I need to make sure that you are fully prepared. There is a chance that Ziva may have just been hanging on for the birth of her baby, and now she is here, Ziva may let go of her fight to live. Which is why it is vital we monitor her for the next 24 hours. But for now," he turns and allows Dr James to step forward, a tiny pink bundle in his arms: "It's time to meet your daughter."

The bundle is placed in his arms, very different from the bloody white screaming mass that he was shown a few minutes previously. This is a little person, with tiny furled fingers and long eyelashes, squishy features and a tuft of dark hair. The feeling the bubbles up inside of his completely overwhelms him and he cannot do anything except stare at this new woman in his life who he knows he will do anything for. Dr James grins at him. "You have a little miracle in your arms – a strong, healthy little girl. We do want to keep her in observation overnight – just to make sure. She has undergone great trauma to be here. But, before we take her to the nursery, I think there are some people waiting, not so patiently, to meet her."

Tony stands, gently shifts his daughter in his arms, and walks into the waiting area where the team has been pacing for the better part of three hours, empty coffee cups and CafPow containers littering the chairs. They look up, his family – Gibbs, with Stacey next to him; Abby; Ducky; McGee; Jimmy – weary, worn, worried. Seeing the wide smile on his face, they crowd round him: "Meet Xena Tali DiNozzo," he says softly as they admire the now sleeping baby.

"Xena? As in Warrior Princess? Ohhhhhh, Ziva is so going to kill you," McGee gulps loudly.


	10. Chapter 10 Protectors of the night

**Disclaimer: Seriously…? **

A/N: First off – to all of you who have stuck by me, added me to alerts and keep reviewing – thank you so much. Your reviews are awesome and you make me feel like my writing is worthy. Secondly – I truly appreciate that you have waited for the sporadic updates. And I am pleased to announce that these will not be as random as they have been the last few months. To me there is nothing worse than getting involved in a story that isn't updated on a regular basis, and I apologize to you all for that, and hope you stay reading.

* * *

**RECAP: **_Tony stands, gently shifts his daughter in his arms, and walks into the waiting area where the team has been pacing for the better part of three hours, empty coffee cups and CafPow containers littering the chairs. They look up, his family – Gibbs, with Stacey next to him; Abby, Ducky, McGee, Jimmy – weary, worn, worried. Seeing the wide smile on his face, they crown round him: "Meet Xena Tali DiNozzo," he says softly as they admire the now sleeping baby. _

"_Xena? As in Warrior Princess? Ohhhhhh, Ziva is so going to kill you," McGee gulps loudly. _

* * *

**Chapter 10: Protectors of the night**

Stacey is at the doorway of the nursery, quietly observing the young agent with his new charge. A gentle smile graces her face as she sees him clumsily shift the tiny baby in his arms, dislodging the bottle she is greedily sucking on. The baby mews in frustration and Tony quickly shoves the bottle back into her mouth, gazing at her in complete fascination, and perhaps, a touch of fear.

Stacey shivers slightly, goose bumps rise on her skin in response to the light breath on her cheek; her perpetually silent companion with his unique scent of sawdust and coffee that clings to her skin and nostrils long after he's gone. She leans back ever so slightly against his chest.

"He's grown into a fine man," Gibbs whispers into her ear. She tilts her head, stares into his blue eyes; pride tinged with sadness, jostling with regret.

And Stacey smiles sorrowfully at this tall, damaged man whom she has known only a few weeks, yet already knows so well.

"It cuts too close to home, doesn't it? Reminds you of what you once had, and what you lost?" She asks, hesitantly, gently. And Gibbs turns his head away, unable to meet her eyes.

Hospitals.

Funny how long dark hours waiting by bedsides, hoping and praying for miracles allows you the chance, the opportunity, to be more open than perhaps you naturally would. To share more with strangers who become closer than friends.

Something cathartic in admitting what under normal circumstances you wouldn't. Hell, it had taken him years to tell Jen about his first wife and daughter. And even then, it hadn't been under his own terms.

Had been in this very hospital that Jen had found out – when he was lying in the bed unconscious; instead of Ziva. Ironic really that Ziva had been the one to wrench him into reality then. Hell, he wished it would be as easy as giving her a head slap to bring her back now…

He shakes his head, dislodging the painful images that circle, swirl: Ziva's pale face morphs into Kelly…Shannon…Jenny. Three redheads - all head strong and feisty, all had secured a place in his heart, which broke, shattered a little more as each become resigned to mere memories– flesh no more.

He knows he bottles things up. That is just who he is. He has no use for words - shows affection gruffly, rarely. Rather take it out on his basement than wear it on his sleeve. Because least the inanimate wood doesn't answer back, doesn't care less if you are there once a night, once a week or once a month – and it doesn't hurt so much saying goodbye.

But, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he has changed, mellowed, if you will and he knows it. If there is one thing the past year or so has taught him – time is not on your side. Life is fleeting and, well… happiness is not your right.

Got to take it when you have it. Got to grab it when you get it. Else it's too late and words that should have been said, shared - words that inspire, words that build, words that heal - are left in hearts that stop beating, never to touch pale lifeless lips.

Hospitals. Can change a man.

Stacey smiles gently, lightly touches his shoulder, tugging him back from the emotions he fights, the memories that flash behind his eyes.

She knows these looks: regret, sorrow, guilt. Has seen it countless times before. In her occupation, comes with the territory. The only things that change are the faces. Some leave here different people, better versions of themselves. And some, some never recover. But all she leaves, within the confines of the hospital walls. Coming back refreshed and ready the next day, for the next batch of pain, of hope.

But this… this man, this tragedy, this incongruent group of co-workers who are closer than family… this has struck a cord in her. This she cannot leave behind in stark white walls and disinfectant. This comes home with her, clings to her skin, her bones, her mind, her heart. This is different and they both know it. This man, who stands here with her, this enigma.

Is it fleeting, a band aid? She doesn't know and doesn't really care. Here and now. This is what is important. And perhaps, this union, this connection, this completeness, will not survive outside these hospital walls. And perhaps it will. But for now – she is here – he is here - and that is all that matters.

And so, they continue to watch through the nursery door in silence; protectors standing guard, unseen, unknown – watching over the young agent and his new charge.

They see Tony tense slightly as the baby, previously content, pulls her legs up, scrunches up her face and wails. A large nurse bustles up and without a word, whips the baby out of Tony's protesting arms and hitches her over his shoulder, placing his hand on her small back, showing him how to rub vigorously. A loud burp and Xena settles quietly, nuzzling into his neck. The nurse claps him hard on the back before walking off.

And the silent watchers share a chuckle, which just as quickly slides off Gibbs' face.

Taking once more quick look at father and daughter, he slowly moves to the chairs littering the passageway, sinks into them, suddenly looking older, haggard.

Stacey sits next to him, softly taking his hand into hers. "Worried?" she asks him gently. He nods, dropping his head, lifting their enclosed hands and kissing hers lightly.

"Ziva?" she asks, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice. He shakes his head, his lips moving across the skin of her hand, turns to look at her out of the corner of his eye.

"She's still in observation, but the doc says she is resting comfortably. He says the next 24 to 48 hours are critical. That if that mind doctor is right – she may decide to stay, or decide to go - but it really is all up to her. Gave us a bit of a fright earlier, mind you. Thought we had lost her. She flat-lined. Doctors and nurses came running to see what all the fuss was about – turns out the dimwit intern hadn't positioned the heart monitor pads correctly when she was moved into ICU…"

He gazes off down the corridor. "I know she is strong, a fighter and has come this far. But what if this is the end of her journey? Doc seems to think that each day that passes is a chance less that she will wake up. And if she does – we don't know if the Ziva we love is still in there. That worries me. He worries me." Gibbs nods his head towards the dimly lit nursery.

"Tony is already so taken with that little girl in there. Has willing accepted her place in his life. And, quite frankly, it scares me."

"Because, she may not be his?" Stacey asks, hesitantly.

Gibbs sighs, heavily. Nods.

"There is still a chance that she is Rivkin's. And while I know that Tony has accepted her – I know the kind of man Eli is. He doesn't like losing and he most definitely doesn't appreciated being outmanoeuvred or outsmarted. Which is what Tony has done, on both accounts. Mark my words; Elis will test that baby's DNA. If she is not Tony's, he will find a way to claim that baby girl as his own. "

"But legally…" Stacey breaks in, horrified.

"What Eli wants, he usually gets. Through whatever means necessary. Tony has a fight on his hands. This…" he stares back towards the dimly lit nursery entrance, "Is just the lull before the storm."


	11. Chapter 11 Dark before dawn

**Disclaimer: Yeah....**

**Chapter 11 – Dark before dawn**

"How can this possibly be so difficult?" Tony grumbles loudly over the cries of the squirming newborn. "It seemed so easy when Kiasha made us practise on that plastic doll."

He leans over the whitewashed changing table, with the gingham white and lilac baskets matching the lilac-tinted walls. The dying sun streams in the large bay window, casting long shadows across the floor.

Scrunching his eyes (an expression mirroring that of the infant lying in front of him) he manages to wrestle the old diaper off her.

Giving up trying to secure it neatly, he flicks it into the bin below – narrowly missing McGee's head.

"Watch it!" the younger agent squeals, his knees shuffling rapidly across the carpeted floor, earning carpet burns for his trouble.

"Probie, what are you doing?" Placing one hand on the baby's belly, Tony turns, raising an eyebrow at the man crawling about on his hands and knees in front of him.

"Baby-proofing," McGee mutters, leaning down low on his elbows, turning his head this way and that.

"Aaha!" he yells, triumphant, scooting across the floor. "The books all say that you have to get down on their level to see what potential dangers there are – I mean, just look here – open plug point," he grouses, pulling a plug protector from his packed tool belt and sliding it into place.

"You do realise…" responds Tony acerbically, trying to lift Xena's legs, holding her ankles and feet with one hand, "…that she is not even 48 hours old? And while, I am sure, given her genes, she is a genius – Xena will not be sticking her fingers into any open plugholes for quite some time…"

He reaches to pull out a baby wipe, knocking over an open bottle of lotion in the process. Swearing lightly under his breath, he drops the baby's feet gently and lifts her up onto his shoulder, trying to mop up the rapidly spreading liquid.

"A good Boy Scout knows you can never be too prepared," chortles McGee, still crawling around with this head down.

"Ouch," he yelps, slamming into the corner of the small table, strategically placed next to the large antique rocking chair, currently occupied by a very excited Abby rocking furiously.

"You see – hazardous! Now imagine if that had been Xena?" McGee declares, sitting back on his heels. His eyes glaze over. "Whoa… Is there blood? It feels like there should be blood," he questions forlornly, his plea drowned out by Tony's laughter.

Abby leans forward on her haunches in front of McGee. "Poor baby," she says, pursing her lips and rubbing his head gently. "Nasty bruise. But no blood."

Tony's chuckle melts into a strangled yelp: "Diaper!" He lifts a still moaning baby from his shoulder, the wet patch spreading across his designer shirt.

Kissing her damp head, he places the unhappy baby in an equally confused Abby's arms.

"Don't worry Princess, Daddy's not cross – just needs to change his shirt." He sniffs his underarms and recoils, "and perhaps should take the opportunity to have a much needed shower. You'll be okay? Everything is either on the counter or in the drawers," he throws over his shoulder, leaving the room.

"Tooony," Abby squeals, holding the baby awkwardly. "Just because I have breasts doesn't mean I naturally know what to do with babies… Tony… McGee!? Help!?" But she is speaking to an empty room.

Looks from the grousing baby she's placed on the changing mat, to the array of products and back to the baby. "Now, Little Madam," she tilts her head to the side, reaching for a clean diaper, "which way is up?"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Xena is clean, diapered, dressed – and cleaned, re-diapered and dressed again – after Abby realises the diaper wasn't secured properly. Now, wiping her brow, Abby jiggles the baby trying to calm her as she scrunches her fists into her eyes, mewling loudly.

Abby is still busy negotiating with the baby – her silence for Bert – when McGee re-enters the room, a warmed bottle of formula in one hand, and a burp rag in the other. Raising his eyebrow at the panic that flashes across Abby's face, he takes Xena and settles into the rocking chair, slipping the bottle into her mouth. She immediately quietens, sucking greedily, closing her eyes contentedly.

* * *

Freshly showered, Tony peeps in on the now quiet room, sees McGee with Xena comfortable in his arms, Abby leaning over the back of the chair, like a wayward guardian angel. Ziva would be proud, he thinks, smiling softly to himself, padding barefoot into the kitchen to start on dinner. And for a few moments, a few seconds, his life seems normal.

* * *

The baby sucks down the last few dregs of her bottle, sighing lightly, her eyes closed. McGee shifts her over his shoulder, rubbing her back, forcing the wind out. She belches loudly, as Abby and McGee both laugh: "Definitely Tony's child," Abby responds, the chuckle dying in her throat: "What do you think is going to happen Timmy?"

He shrugs. Stands, picks up a blanket from the cot and wraps Xena securely before bending to kiss her head. Her eyes closed, he places her on her side in the cot and pulls another light blanket up over her.

Switching on the night light, with its soft lullaby and dancing images, he whispers: "Sleep well precious one." Looking up, he catches Abby's amazed look. "What? So some of that stuff at those classes sunk in…" he mutters gruffly.

Abby hooks her arm through his, without saying a word.

* * *

"Have you heard from Tony?" Abby asks anxiously. "Cos I haven't and I have tried to call him, and Timmy tried to call him and, it's been two days and he won't answer the phone. Do you think he's okay? Gibbs. Is he okay?" The older man slides a CafPow into her free hand. As she takes a break to have a sip he gently speaks. "Leave him. He's okay."

"But Boss," McGee whines.

Gibbs holds up his hand. "How many times did you visit him and Xena?" The two sheepishly look up. "Um, we went home with them from the hospital, and then stayed the night but we left after her morning feed…" Gibbs holds up his hand again. "And you?" He asks, pointing to Ducky: "Well, I arrived just as Abby and Timothy were leaving, just to check on them of course."

"Aha." Says Gibbs gruffly, looking at Stacey. "And you?"

She has the good grace to look embarrassed. "I might have popped in before my shift. And then again after, but Jimmy was there too," she points to the young medical examiner who pushes his glasses up onto his nose. "Erm.. I may have stayed for a few hours. But then they arrived again," he adds accusingly, pointing back at Abby and McGee.

"Precisely my point. Tony is fine. Xena is fine. They just need time to get to know each other, to figure each other out. Which is why he isn't answering his phone or the door. Leave him alone. He will come to us, when he needs us. But for now. He needs that little girl and she needs him."

* * *

Tony paces up and down the passageway. Xena won't stop crying, has been crying for four hours now. He thought he could do this on his own. He wanted to do this on his own. But it is proving too difficult. DiNozzo men don't quit. But they don't sit huddled in a corner rocking themselves either, and if this baby doesn't stop crying – that's where he is going to be. He had switched off his mobile, unplugged his landline, ignored the ringing doorbell – but now, he wishes that McGee would be standing there with his know-it-all grin. Or that Abby would hover, wanting to help, but not to sure of what to do.

Xena just won't stop crying. He has feed her, burped her, changed her. Done everything that he was supposed to do – at least – everything that baby manual Probie left behind told him to. Almost considered calling Pat but didn't want to bother her, she had enough on her plate, with Dani and the two young babies in the house – wouldn't want to have another two crying in her lap.

He sighs, heavily. Rubs his tired eyes. Picks up the baby and buckles her into her baby seat. There's only one thing for it – only one person who can help him.

* * *

Which is how, he finds himself, standing outside Gibbs' door at 4am, the baby still crying. He knocks, the door opens, as does his mouth, his excuse ready. Stacey, wearing an oversized t-shirt that he recognises, and nothing much else. He bumbles his apologies, steps back, trying to turn and leave, but she catches his sleeve, ushering him in, before disappearing into the bedroom. Gibbs steps out of the kitchen, doesn't seem surprised to see him. Just lifts the mug to his mouth and takes a long, satisfying slug. Coffee. At 4am.

"Wondered how long it would take you," he nods. "Been about a week now."

It's a statement, not a question, and Tony sinks into the old sofa, placing the baby seat on the floor next to him. "She won't stop crying. Tried everything. She. Just. Won't. Stop."

Gibbs puts down the coffee cup, crouches down in front of the baby seat. Unbuckles Xena. Picks her up, holds her against his chest, rocking her gently. She sniffs, hiccups, snuffles, hiccups again, closes her eyes.

"Did you try cuddling her, DiNozzo?" he asks the exhausted man. "Babies are kind of like women after sex – need cuddling."

Tony shakes his head. "I cannot do this. I'm not cut out to be anybody's dad. Can't even take care of myself." He drops his head back. "I am what my father always thought I would be. A failure." he adds, scathingly.

"No Tony," he tells the man quietly. "You are exhausted, trying to be mother and father to this little person. You are trying to be strong, and tough and prove to everyone that you can do this. But we already know you can. Ziva would be proud of you."

Tony looks up, startled, his eyes wide. "Oh my god Ziva. I haven't. Is she? Oh god." He leans forward his head in his hands.

"She's fine Tony," Stacey says, leaning in next to him, now dressed in jeans and a sweater. "Jethro or myself have been with her, while you couldn't. In fact. I am going there now. You need to get some sleep. Xena is with Jethro, and I'm with Ziva. You aren't any good to anyone like this."

Tony leans back on the sofa, to tired to argue. Puts his feet up. "Maybe, maybe, I'll just close my eyes for a second. If you are sure…"


	12. Chapter 12 Outer Edge of Normal

**Disclaimer: as usual**

**recap: **_Tony looks up, startled, his eyes wide. "Oh my god Ziva. I haven't. Is she? Oh god." He leans forward his head in his hands._

_"She's fine Tony," Stacey says, leaning in next to him, now dressed in jeans and a sweater. "Jethro or myself have been with her, while you couldn't. In fact. I am going there now. You need to get some sleep. Xena is with Jethro, and I'm with Ziva. You aren't any good to anyone like this."_

_ Tony leans back on the sofa, to tired to argue. Puts his feet up. "Maybe, maybe, I'll just close my eyes for a second. If you are sure…"_

**Chapter 12: Outer edge of normal**

Tony zips his jacket up higher against the early morning chill, arches his back to release the tension sitting between his shoulders before reaching into the trunk for his rucksack. Through the trees, he can see McGee and Ducky leaning over the body, and moves across to them. He looks around cautiously, but can't seem to see the boss. That's one for the books, he thinks – him arriving before the boss…

With a shadow of his old strut in his step, he makes his way over to the team, narrowly missing being knocked over by Jimmy who appears from just behind the parked vehicles, frantically pushing the gurney over the uneven ground. Although, Tony reasons, as he jumps aside safely – it could be said the gurney was trying to escape Jimmy.

"What we got, Duckman?" he pipes up in his best Gibbs' impersonation.

Ducky looks up with a raised eyebrow, McGee just shakes his head. "The boss is here, you know," he mutters under his breath as Tony rapidly drops to the ground. "Where, couldn't see him? Thought he might still be tucked up in his nice warm bed next to a nice warm Stacey." He grins lasciviously. Then quickly scrunches his eyes, lifts his hand protecting the back of his head, anticipating a head slap that doesn't materialize.

"He's in that van. Territorial war between us and them…" McGee says, nodding his head towards the nondescript van hidden behind the NCIS truck.

For the first time, Tony notices, a few feet down the embankment a second body, with a second medical examiner and what looks suspiciously to be a doppelganger of Agent Stacks.

"You are kidding me?" Tony groans. "How the hell did this happen? And what is this guy wearing?" He stares down at their own crime scene in confusion.

"It seems," Ducky pauses for full effect, "that our lieutenant here was participating in some sort of medieval war games. You know, when I was a boy, I often dreamed of being a Knight of the Round Table. I had this wooden sword and shield…" he drifted off as he noticed the glazed over expression in both McGee and Tony's eyes.

"Right then… This poor chap was no match for the poison arrow. See his mouth and eyes… clear signs. The positioning of the arrow in his shoulder would have done little more than cause a minor injury. But, of course, we will know more once we get him back to autopsy. Don't worry young knight, we will find your villian," Ducky says to the body quietly, before standing up and brushing the dirt from his knees.

The lieutenant, dressed in green leggings, a coarse cream shirt, with chainmail armor over the chest, is gently rolled into the body bag and onto the gurney, by a huffing and puffing Jimmy.

"Watch that arrow, Jimmy. I don't want it removed just yet." Ducky commanded.

"Riiiigght. So that explains our body, but what about the other?" Tony points down the hill. "FBI informant" McGee explains. "Although, she doesn't look to be part of this particular set-up, which is making the situation a little more sticky." Tony nods. "What's the chances of there being two bodies, mere feet way from each other, and not being connected. Was she in plain sight?"

"Oh yes, more so, than our guy, in fact," McGee adds. "But perhaps, it's just a co-incidence. Our guy was shot with an arrow, so the killer wasn't standing right next to him – while their girl most definitely was up close and personal with hers."

"And yet, here we are… and if it isn't my two favourite NCIS agents." Stacks mutters as he walks towards them.

"Special Agents, to you Slacks," Tony grouses.

"See you packing on a little weight around the middle there DiNozzo. Looking a bit chubby since the last time I saw you. NCIS budget cuts close the agency's gym?"

Tony is just about to retort, when he feels a sharp stinging sensation to the back of his head. "Ouch Boss," he turns to face a thunderous Gibbs and a clearly amused Fornell.

"You didn't?" Gibbs says through clenched teeth. "Tell me you didn't bring my two-week old god-daughter to a crime scene."

In response, the front of Tony's jacket hiccups slightly, and a soft wail emits from the folds. Tony pulls down the zipper, glaring at Gibbs as he does so, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he reveals Xena nestled against his chest in the baby harness.

"There, there princess. Mean Uncle Gibbs didn't mean to wake you." He kisses the top of her downy head, as the baby continues to cry softly.

"Pass her here Tony and get her bottle" Gibbs sighs, holding out his arms for the baby. "And give me a blanket, it's cold out here."

He wraps the baby tightly and moves a bit off, having taken the milk from the bottle warmer offered to him. Turning back: "McGee collect evidence; Tony take photographs. There's still a job to do."

"Well, I be, never thought I would see that," Fornell utters, walking towards his old friend who is now perched in the doorway of the FBI surveillance van.

Agent Stacks awkwardly pats Tony on the back: "Sorry about…didn't think…" he says gruffly.

"This doesn't mean we're friends," he throws over his shoulder as he makes his way back to his own crime scene. "Wouldn't expect it any other way," grumbles Tony, lifting his camera and following McGee. "This is going to take hours."

* * *

Fornell watches as Gibbs finishes feeding Xena and expertly burps her. Now content once more, she flops over his shoulder.

"Can I?" Fornell asks hesitantly. Gibbs nods. Taking the baby carefully, he remarks: "Very much like her mother, isn't she?"

Gibbs nods slowly, stares out over where the team are still busy: McGee and Tony elbowing each other out the way as they go about their duties, mirroring Stacks and his partner a short distance away; Ducky talks to his FBI counterpart and Jimmy squints up the tree at a squirrel that, he believes, is eyeing him sideways.

"How is she doing?" Fornell asks quietly.

"No change. Which can be either good, or bad, I suppose. The more time goes by…" his words hang in the air.

"And him?" Fornell inclines his head towards Gibbs' two agents. Tony is dropping pine needles down the back of McGee's jacket. Crouched over, the junior agent has given him the perfect target. With a snarl, McGee drops the evidence bag he has just sealed and signed into his kit and leaps up, chasing Tony who jumps from side to side avoiding his flailing arms.

"He's beginning to give up on her, I think. Hasn't been in to see her since Xena was born – always seems to have an excuse. And the fact that she," he acknowledges the now sleeping baby, "looks so much like her mother could mean that..."

"She takes after her father," Fornell adds quietly.


	13. Chapter 13 Biologically Speaking

Disclaimer: hasn't changed

A/N: thanks all you loyal readers who have stuck by me with this one; thanks for all your awesome reviews and queries. I hope this chapter helps clear some of those issues up. And for those of you who are worried about Ziva or feel that she has been asleep for too long – I am sorry to say that she isn't quite ready to wake up yet. All will be revealed; I promise…. And, because I so owe you, I will be posting again this week!

**Chapter 13: Biologically speaking**

Tony rushes into the bullpen, rucksack over one shoulder, Xena in her carrier hanging off his arm. He plops the sleeping baby on his desk, looks around quickly, sighs in relief. "He's with the Director," McGee shares, not looking up from his screen, his fingers clicking on the keyboard. "Cutting it a bit fine, aren't you?"

Tony yawns, stretches. "Xena and I had a little difference in opinion. I wanted to sleep, she didn't." Scratching the back of his head he looks firstly at the content child, up to Vance's office and back down to his desk. "Mind watching her for a few minutes McGoo? Could really do with a cup of coffee." Without waiting for a response, he strides across towards the break room. "Can't believe I am even going try and drink this swill, probably eat away my insides," he mutters. Moving over to the vending machine, he puts his money in. Nothing happens. Kicks it hard. Nothing happens. Grimacing, he puts his cup down, grabs hold of the sides, shaking it viciously. Victory. He shoves his chocolate slab into his pocket, picks up his coffee cup – breakfast of champions.

Makes his way back to the bullpen to see McGee with Xena in his arms. At least, he thinks McGee is in there somewhere, currently surrounded by a gaggle of women, all cooing at how cute Xena is. Tony recognizes at least four field agents from their floor, two from accounting and is that Sheryl from the cyber lab? The lift doors open and another bevy of hotties swarm around McGee. "Oh my, that's adorable.", "Baby isn't too bad either," the words drift past him as they propel Tony out of the way. Unbelievable, Tony muses. To think, all this time he had been thinking of smart pick up lines, offering fine dining establishments, when all he needed was a baby…

Slipping through the women, he manouveers next to McGee, plucks the still sleeping baby out of his arms. "She's not a puppy, McGee. Can't take her for a walk in the park to find a date," he chirps out the side of his mouth. McGee, looking abashed, responds. "She was making a noise. Looked like she was about cry. Thought the boss and the director would hear and didn't think you would want that."

Placing Xena gently back into her chair, Tony concedes that had the baby been crying, she probably would have disturbed those in MTAC, no mere feat, considering the room is sound-proofed. As he attempts to shoo the gaggle of oohing and aahing women away from his desk, Tony swears he can hear the faint monotonous ticking of biological clocks. This must be how Captain Hook felt as he was followed by that ticking crocodile – the only difference with these predators is that they are better dressed and wearing heels. Except Dalores from payroll – and that is only because her cankles makes stilettos impossible.

A deep clearing of a throat makes him look up at the stairwell, and as the women scatter back to their various departments Tony uses the diversion to shove the baby carrier under his desk. Director Vance walks over, his lips curling around his toothpick as he speaks. "Agent DiNozzo, tell me I did not see you put a baby under your desk, surely there is someone who can take care of her, family, friends , oh, I don't know, daycare?"

Tony, tired and defiant, stands, staring down at the director. "Yes, director, I have placed my two week old baby under my desk, just like I took her to a crime scene yesterday. You see, while the women of the bureau get four months guaranteed maternity leave, us fathers are only afforded two weeks, or so Human Resources told me. And what with my wife, the mother of my child, currently lying in hospital in a coma the past few months, any annual leave I had accumulated has since been exhausted. So my options are severely limited. There are of course the biological grandfathers, one of which wants to kill of his own daughter, and raise her child as the ultimate fighting machine. Then there's my father, but, we would first have to find him and his new identity as he has been put on the witness protection programme after his last con went south. The people I call family work here in the building with me, and any friends, outside of work, are old frat boys who still think spring break should be declared a national holiday. Of course, as you so eloquently put it, I could always put her in daycare, but the ones in this general vicinity, don't take babies under three months and while a nanny would be a viable option, no-one seems willing to be available at three in the morning – just in case I get called out and I cannot afford a live-in So, yes, there is a baby under my desk."

Vance pulls himself up to his full height, still towered over by the glowering agent, shifts his toothpick in his mouth: "Agent DiNozzo, while I sympathize with your plight, this is no place for a baby. You have a week to find alternative arrangements," he barks out, turning on his heels and storming up the stairs

"Would that be a working week, or week week – because that is a difference of two days…ouch" Tony rubs the back of his head. "Okay Boss, shutting up now Boss."

McGee once again seated as his desk, leans over: "What you going to do now, Tony?" he questions meekly.

"Don't know Probie, guess I am going to have to come up with something, and fast." he responds, pulling his fingers through his hair as he lets out a ragged breath.

* * *

Tony sits at his desk, floor plans and papers scattered all over. Using his calculator he crunches the numbers again and smiles, it's taken four days of research, but it's worth it. Looking at his watch, he picks up the phone and calls Gibbs, checking in on Xena. Stacey had come past NCIS when she got off shift to pick up the baby.

"And you are sure that you put her down in the camp cot when she was drowsy but not totally asleep? You didn't sit there cuddling her and rocking her did you?" The response is an exasperated sigh and…dial tone? Satisfied that Xena has been bathed, fed and is settled for the next few hours, he turns to his keyboard, his fingers doing the two-fingered tap dance as he painstakingly types up his notes.

* * *

It's close on midnight when he gets to Gibbs' house, opening the door, he lets himself in. The television flickers against the wall, sound muted. He moves across to the camp cot. Tucks the blanket more firmly around the baby, who gentle snuffles in her sleep. Going into the kitchen, he opens the fridge, and takes out the covered plate. Peeling the foil off, he pops it in the microwave. Waiting for his food, he retrieves two beers, and balancing the now steaming plate and the drinks, makes his way down the steps to the basement.

"You really shouldn't leave the front door unlocked. Anyone can walk in," Tony says around a mouthful of food.

"Heard it was you," Gibbs inclines his head towards the baby monitor propped up against his work desk. Leans forward and plucks the beer from Tony's outstretched hand. Takes a deep swig before returning to sand the wooden framework.

"Taking shape nicely." Tony nods to towards the boat. Gibbs grunts, continuous sanding.

Tony finishes his meal, sips his beer, watches Gibbs work. Without looking up at the younger man, his hands not wavering over the wood he asks the question he already knows the answer to: "Been to see her yet?"

Gibbs watches as Tony picks up his plate, takes it up to the kitchen. He follows the younger man, who stands leaning against the sink, shoulders hunched. Opening the kitchen cupboard, Gibbs riffles around, finds what he is looking for. Blows the dust off the old bottle of scotch, and reaching for two short glasses, carries the alcohol and the glasses into the sitting room. Waiting. Watching.

He hears the sound of Tony's boot thumping against the cupboard. Hard. Once, twice, three times. Gonna have to fix that. The noise startles Xena, who whimpers. Gibbs moves across, leaning over the camp cot, he pops the pacifier into her mouth, shushing her gently. Settled once more, he bends down and kisses her soft downy head. Seeing that Tony has come into the room, he walks over to the table, unscrews the cap, pours two generous servings of the golden liquid into glasses and sinks into the chair next to the dejected man. The flickering light from the late night movie – black and white – casts an eery glow over his features, but Gibbs can see the pain, the regret, the guilt etched there. Recognizes the emotions that have taken residence there, been his own longtime companions haven't they?

Tony takes a gulp of the firey liquid, splutters as it burns down his throat and into his chest. The second, a sip, this time, slides down smoother. "Did you know that research shows a newborn baby is more likely to resemble the father the first few months, than the mother," he intones, matter-of-factly. Taking another sip, he continues: "Scientists believe that this helps the biological father bond better with his new child and, well, I guess, the mother already knows the kid is hers."

Leaning back into the sofa, he tips his drink into his mouth. "This of course refers to the biological father." Closes his eyes. He cannot look at Gibbs, cannot bare to see the disappointment that he is sure will be in his eyes. "I can't go see her," he whispers. "I want to, but I can't and each day…" he gives a shuddery sigh. "each day with that little girl. It gets harder to go back."

Sitting up he pours himself another drink. Cradles the glass in his hands. "She didn't want me Gibbs. She made that perfectly clear, she is still making that clear. It doesn't matter if I am there or not, if I am talking to her or not. There has been no change. Not even a flicker…."

Xena stirs in the corner, mews her discontent. Tony puts down the glass and shuffles over to her, picking her up. "The brainiacs say that it is up to Ziva, that she needs to want to wake up. What if I am just hindering that? What if my being there is making it worse not better?"

Gibbs shakes his head, takes a bottle of sterilized water out of the fridge, heats it up, as he measures the formula out. Mixing the warmed bottle, he tests it on the inside of his wrist before handing it over to Tony. "Ziver needs us all Tony, she needs all the support she can get. She needs to know she is loved. She needs to know there is a reason to come back from where-ever she may be." Gibbs says slowly, quietly.

"But what if she doesn't want to come back? What then?" Tony looks down at the baby in his arms sucking furiously at the bottle, her brown eyes stare into his before closing. Kissing the dark downy hair, Tony whispers: "And how do I tell my daughter that I killed her father?"


	14. Chapter 14 Who We Are

**Disclaimer: Yeah… still don't own NCIS, the story lines or the characters. But I still lay claim to my imagination….**

A/N: Well, I did promise… I managed, just, to post two chapters a week apart… whhoooohhooo! So, this isn't all sunshine and candy floss, I'm afraid. But I do promise that the next chapter (coming later this week) is much lighter.

**Chapter 14: Who We Are**

Tony shifts on the chair. Under the watchful eye of Cynthia, he sticks his finger under his collar, pulls it away from constricting his neck, sucks air in deeply. Standing, he uses the framed painting on the wall behind him to check his reflection, straightening and securing his tie. It's a Matisse or a Monet, he's not entirely sure, but from the looks of it the painting is definitely an original. Probably, like Cynthia, a remnant of Jenny. Pats his hair flat and turns, his eyes falling on the coffee table. He bends, checks, again, that he has all the blueprints, neatly bound documents and business plan he needs.

Rolling back on his heels, he catches the light smile filter across Cynthia's face: "The director will be here shortly. Want some coffee?"

He nods, features pinched. He is nervous. Much rides on what he presents to Vance today.

Cynthia hands Tony a mug of freshly brewed coffee (from the director's own filter coffee machine), asking hesitantly: "Xena?" Tony's face relaxes into a grin, for just a second: "Gibbs. He's taking her for her clinic checkup today. Said he could afford the time off."

They share a knowing smile. Gibbs isn't known for taking time off. Unless, of course, you count his four month 'retirement'.

Seeing she's lost Tony to his memories, Cynthia backs off, sits at her desk watching him under lowered lashes. She feels for the tall brooding agent who has always been too hard on himself, unsure of his own strength and capabilities. Gibbs knows though, of that she is certain, and Jenny knew. Jenny…

Tony is also thinking of the former red-headed director. One of his multitude of failures, he muses. Should have listened to Ziva that day. Then again, should have listened to Ziva on a number of occasions. Ziva… Ziva… Where did they go so horrible wrong?

It's funny how Ziva's arrival was so inextricably linked to that of Jenny's. They had history. Were agents. Allies. Fought together. Nearly died together. They were close. As close as two prickly, defensive, stubborn women could be. So different; so similar. Yet, he was probably closer, emotionally, to Jenny than Ziva ever was.

Then again, Ziva has always been Gibbs's. There was something that tied them, linked them. It wasn't just the fact that they were both sharp shooters – the assassin and the sniper. It wasn't that they both carry a gun in their holsters, a knife at their calves and another in their belts. And, it couldn't just be because Ziva chose loyalty over family.

No, it was more than that. Still is. Somehow they both allowed each other to thaw into those frozen hearts of theirs. A relationship, a closeness, that no-one else can understand or even come close too. Perhaps it is because Ziva reminds him of what his daughter could have been, and he reminds her of what a father should be.

She was the one that pulled him back from his own tortured darkness, when Gibbs didn't know, recognize any of them. Not Tony himself and certainly not the woman Gibbs loved.

That was the summer they clung to each other, he and Ziva, as he tried to find his way without his mentor. His…friend…

The impulse decision, as they lay drenched one night, the sheet twisted around them, his fingers lightly tracing words of love, forever and always on her back. He didn't want to end up like Gibbs. Like Jenny. To damn afraid of their own feelings. To wrapped up in the rules and regulations that governed them.

He had enough of that growing up in strict boarding schools, and she with her military upbringing. It was time to break free – to allow themselves the frivolity that had been denied for so long. The two most afraid made the ultimate commitment – a white sundress, two gold rings, two signatures joining them in one name. And for a few short weeks, it was perfect. They were perfect.

Then her history and his future became entangled. Didn't come to him for help – so much for that for better or worse… Instead, she went to the man who had abandoned him. The one she turned to, always turns to – Gibbs. They all thought life would simply slot back into place. But it didn't. He didn't. Couldn't either of them see that it wasn't jealousy that consumed him, that made him so damn mad? It was the rejection that burned him to his core, ripped him raw. His childhood all over again. Rejected as a team leader; discarded as a husband. He needed to prove to them, to himself that he was capable. He was worthy.

Damn Jenny. Damn Jenny and her stubbornness and her passion. She saw right through him. Saw the perfect pawn in her master game. Consumed with revenge, she used the full power vested in her by the United States Government. Sent him and herself down into a spiraling vortex that neither one would ever recover from.

And if he is honest with himself, it was good to pretend to be someone else. It was easy to believe that he was a successful college professor, whose main worry was ensuring his next lecture was as entertaining and informative as his last. It was good to see himself through Jeanne's sparkling eyes. He had the chance to be everything he was never allowed to be. There was no history. No mistakes. No recriminations. Just him. And Jeanne. And yes. He fell in love: With the dream; with the idea.

It was only as he lay in bed, Jeanne next to him, that his mind wandered, unleashed. In that place between awake and dreaming, the thoughts would filter through his already overcrowded head: The concern in Ziva's brown eyes; the questioning awareness in Gibbs's.

Forcing himself to file these dangerous thoughts away, he would pull Jeanne in closer, nuzzling her neck, close his eyes. Escaping once more to his pretend world with its fake future.

Coming back from that - after the explosion, after breaking…no… shattering Jeanne's heart – was harder than he ever thought possible. It was the eyes that got him the most: the disbelief in Jeanne's, the undisguised hurt in Ziva's, the acknowledgement in Gibbs' that Tony was not his but Jenny's. Gibbs never did quite forgive Jenny for that. Oh, he loved her, Tony knows that. Couldn't stop loving her. But hated her for what she did to his team. To him - Tony. Yet another thing to feel guilty about.

The strange thing, Tony continues to muse, lost his thoughts, is that Ziva was never upset about the sex. She understood the necessity for his cover. He didn't even want to think how many times she herself had used sex as an interrogation tool – or worse. But once she knew about the ruse, she understood. Never held it against him that he had been sleeping with another woman.

What did get to her was the fact that she believed - as he did too, he can now admit- that he fell in love with the beautiful doctor. She once confessed to him that she felt Jeanne could give him something she never could. Herself. Fully. It was this realization that drove them further apart.

Oh the attraction was there. Was always there. He needed Ziva like he needed air, or water. But, attraction alone is never enough.

Slowly, painfully they managed to work their way back to a mutual understanding. A flirtatious glance, a hearty laugh, a practical joke, a few cutting words. But never to where they were.

Seeing her so secretive, discovering her with Michael; the horror in her eyes as she watched him bleed out. The hollow, glassy look she gave him.

The loathing. The hate. No-one comes back from that. No-one. He knows that now.

For a short while, he tried to convince himself that it would all be better, that his deep-seated fears were unfounded. He was so relieved when she was found; when she was returned to him. He thought, no hoped, this was his second chance. And he so he sat with her night after night as she lay sleeping in that hospital bed, listening to her beating heart. Compelling her to open her eyes, to wake, for him, for them. He believed that if she did, she would forgive him. He had already forgiven her. If one thing her being held captive taught him, was that he couldn't, no, wouldn't live without her.

Gibbs wants to know what's changed? It's simple really. Nothing. Nothing has changed. And that is the whole problem. Tony thinks back a few nights, to when he was alone in the bullpen, sitting staring at the empty desk across from him. Wanted to see if there was something there he had missed, some clue that she knew she was pregnant before they left for Israel.

He had rifled through her drawers before, when she first disappeared. But not since then. It seemed like an invasion of privacy, somehow – even if she wasn't aware. He moved across the open space, sat gingerly in her chair. His fingers shaking, pulled open the top drawer. Couldn't resist opening her hand cream, inhaling the gentle vanilla-infused scent. The memories flooded his senses overwhelming him; he quickly shoved the drawer closed.

Something slipped, the drawer jammed. Frustrated, he tugged it out completely, yanking at the offending item – a brown envelope marked confidential. He knew he shouldn't be opening it, that it was her private mail and a criminal act at that – could almost hear McGeek's voice in his head, warning him off.

But, he couldn't resist. Perhaps it was the official looking stamp, or perhaps simply because it was addressed to 'Mrs Ziva DiNozzo'. Either way, he opened it. His fingers stilled, his breathe hitched/ Divorce papers. And not just any divorce papers – signed divorce papers – her chicken scrawl of a signature taunting him. He checks the date, signed two days, two days before he killed her lover, two days before he signed her death warrant.

And it was in that moment, at the very second; he realized that he had lost her. She was never going to come back to him. Perhaps, he questioned, her not wanting to wake up has more to do with him by her side, than the other way round.

But it is still his duty. It is his right. It is his promise. And that he will keep to his dying day. And, if he can't do right by her, he can by her daughter. The child that he has made his own. The child he will fight for, and if necessary, die for, if it means protecting her. Xena will know trust, and love and family, that he will make sure of…

A gentle hand on his shoulder yanks him out of his stupor. Cynthia's gentle voice cuts into his ruminations: "Director Vance will see you now."

He looks up, confused, bleary-eyed. Forgotten where he even was. Mirroring her smile, he gathers up his papers and blueprints. Checking his tie and smoothing his hair, he takes a deep breath and steps through the open office door to where Vance is waiting.


	15. Chapter 15 Child's Play

**So sorry I fell off the planet! Work has been hectically crazy – but I'm baaa-aack!**** And FYI: laptops do not like being smacked hard on the side of the keyboard. Tend to respond by flipping the screen sideways and sulk until you apologize nicely and change their settings. **

**Hopefully some of you will continue to read this, even though the story has been on a three-month hiatus! I will be more compliant with my updates. I will be more compliant with my updates. I will be more compliant with my updates. I will be more compliant with my updates. I will be more compliant with my updates. I will be more compliant with my updates. **

**I will be more compliant with my updates. I will be more compliant with my updates. I will be more compliant with my updates. **

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own NCIS or the characters, just my rampant imagination and my slow thought-processes**.**

**

* * *

**

**RECAP:** _Perhaps it was the official looking stamp, or perhaps simply because it was addressed to 'Mrs Ziva DiNozzo'. Either way, he opened it. His fingers stilled, his breathe hitched. Divorce papers. And not just any divorce papers – signed divorce papers – her chicken scrawl of a signature taunting him. He checks the date, signed two days, two days before he killed her lover, two days before he signed her death warrant. _

_And it was in that moment, at the very second; he realized that he had lost her. She was never going to come back to him. Perhaps, he questioned, her not wanting to wake up has more to do with him by her side, than the other way round._

_But it is still his duty. It is his right. It is his promise. And that he will keep to his dying day. And, if he can't do right by her, he can by her daughter. The child that he has made his own. The child he will fight for, and if necessary, die for, if it means protecting her. Xena will know trust, and love and family, that he will make sure of…_

* * *

**Chapter 15: ****Child's play **

Vance works his lips around his prerequisite toothpick, swirling it from one side to the other as he examines the neatly typed papers. Tony shifts in his seat, lifts his foot onto his knee, tugs down the leg of his pants, pulls the cuff of his shirt, straightens up

Glancing at Tony, Vance pulls the toothpick out of his mouth, comments: "So, talk me through this again. What exactly are you proposing?"

Tony takes a deep breath – leans forward. "Quite simple really. This building adjacent to ours," taps his finger on the blueprint rolled out on the director's desk, "is empty at the moment. It was used as a training facility so has the prerequisite number of bathrooms and kitchen facilities as well as a large fenced area outside. There is already a basketball court, and the obstacle course can be redesigned into a jungle gym and sand pits with minimal effort and expense."

He stops to catch his breath, before continuing: "There are enough rooms to turn one into a nursery for smaller babies, one into a toddler and kindergarten area and four smaller rooms for the older kids after school. I have worked out a business plan, as well as the number of caregivers needed and what we need to do to be compliant with standard regulations."

Vance looks over the paperwork and the eager expression on Tony's face. Shaking his head slowly he responds: "I can see you have done thorough research here, and I will take it to the next level, but Agent DiNozzo, I have to be honest with you – I don't see this working."

Muttering something about understanding, Tony shuffles the papers into a loose pile and leaves Vance's office – shoulders' dejected.

* * *

McGee looks up, questioning as Tony shuffles into the bullpen.

"How did it go?"

"Don't ask," Tony responds huffily, attempting to shove the bulky papers into his filing cabinet. Each time he pushes it shut, the jammed papers force the sliding drawer open again. Exasperated, he smacks his hand, open-palm, against the cabinet. Groaning in frustration and pain, he gives up and stalks off to the break room.

McGee quietly moves over to the cabinet – slides it open and reshuffles the papers to make them fit. His inquisitive nature (he likes to think of it as a sign of being a good investigator, rather than simply snooping) compels him to pick up the loose sheaths on top, reads quickly. Shakes his head, just when he thought Tony was done surprising him.

Hearing the senior agent stomping back, he quickly slides the drawer shut and sits at his desk – seemingly having never moved. He looks over at Tony, just once, his fingers poised over his keyboard, before dropping them onto the keys, frantically typing.

Ziva's not the only one with a photographic memory, he smirks to himself.

* * *

Tony kisses the top of Xena's downy head, as she lies nestled against his chest in her sling. He hitches his rucksack and her diaper bag higher onto his shoulder and reaches down to pick up her carrycot. Vance may have given him ultimatum, but he figures he still has a few days' grace.

The lift doors slide open. Gob-smacked, the doors close on him again. Tony looks down at Xena, who looks back at him, her own wide eyes matching his – mirroring his expression rather than fully understanding the meaning behind it.

The lift doors slide open again and this time, Tony sticks his hand out to stop the doors from closing. A remote controlled car zooms in, followed closely by a small blonde boy who looks remarkable like Jacobs, the agent who sits four cubicles across from them.

He reaches down, his hand supporting Xena, and turns the car around. The little boy – Tony has no idea how old he is – shares a gap-toothed grin and runs off.

Tony steps into the mayhem. Two strollers have taken over the areas usually reserved for the mail trolley: each containing a rather sticking and grumpy-looking toddler. Seven, or maybe it was 10, kids of various heights run past, playing a rather animated game of tag, almost knocking Gibbs' coffee cup out of his hand.

"That would have been the second time," he mutters, sinking into his chair. "Better be worth it McGee."

At least, that is what Tony thinks Gibbs says. Hard to tell, the words lost as he swigs his drink simultaneously.

Tony's eyes meet McGee's who just shrugs. "McNipulator is this your doing?" Undoes the straps of the baby sling, lifts Xena out and places the now sleeping baby on Gibbs' waiting chest.

The tell-tale prickly red that swarms McGee's neck is a dead giveaway and he nods, slowly, defensively: "It was a sound plan Tony. I just shared your thoughts with some of the staff here who would have benefited. This," he swings his arms wide, "is the result."

Tony opens his mouth to respond, but the words are halted, stalled by a loud angry yelling: "What is the meaning of this?" Vance is apoplectic, eyes bulging, toothpick quivering, as he marches down the stairs. "Anthony DiNozzo – I have been making allowances for you, but you have gone to far this time boy…"

Xena startles, arms flaying, loudly wailing.

"Leon - what you do' in upsetting this little one." Jackie stands, hands on her hips, head cocked to one side. She marches over to Gibbs, plucks the baby out of his arms and gently rocks her. "Hello there beautiful girl," she croons softly. Xena hiccups loudly and snuffles into Jackie's neck. Settling again.

There is silence in the bullpen – even the kids have halted mid-run – all eyes on Jackie and Vance, who shuffles uncomfortably from foot to foot as Jackie glares at him over the baby's head.

"Aaahh, Jackie. What you… what you do' in here?" Vance asks, hesitant, unsure. "Kids' ok?"

Kissing the soft skin on her forehead, Jackie gently places Xena into the carrycot next to Tony's desk, pulls the blanket up over her, pats her bottom once and smiles indulgently at her. She straightens up, the smile removed, a deep set frown on her face, hands back on her hips as she stares Vance down.

"The kids are right here, Leon," Jackie opens her arms wide as Kayla and Jared step out from behind the partition. "Thought you could do with some father-child bonding today."

Vance clenches his jaw. "At my office? My place of work? I got responsibilities here Jackie, I can't be babysitting the kids." His outburst startles Xena, who starts whimpering. Tony steps forward, but is halted by Jackie's hand and a sharp shake of her head.

She lifts the moaning baby out of her cot, and hands her to Vance. His arms automatically take her, clumsily, surprised. "Should have thought of that before you were so quick to discount good, solid ideas, shouldn't you? Now, I've got errands to do, and I'm taking Anthony here with me. I'll be back at 3pm to pick Kayla and Jared up. Close your mouth Leon, you catching flies and cuddle that baby girl properly."

Linking her arms with a very surprised Tony, she pulls him from the bullpen. Tony twists back, eyebrows raised in a silent plea. Vance averts his gaze, shifts the baby more comfortably into his arms, shoulders slumped as he looks around at the chaos that is his agency.

Gibbs, behind his desk, simply shrugs his shoulders. "See ya later, DiNozzo. Best do what she says."


	16. Chapter 16 What is what was

**A/N: Unforgivable. That is what I am. It has taken me over a year (yes, that is right… over a year), but I am back and will continue this story. As I said, oh so long ago, I personally cannot stand when a writer starts something and then hesitates halfway through. And, that is exactly what I did. (I blame the fact that 24 hours is simply not enough hours in a day) So, I hope that those who started on this journey with ol' hypocritical me, will allow me to continue this story. I owe it to you, and I owe it to myself. And quite frankly – if none of you out there continue to read, or leave a review… I will not blame you in any manner or form. I will however, finish what I have began.**

**Disclaimer: Sigh, unfortunately, I don't own the NCIS brand or their characters. But, I do like to play with them... does that make me a bad person? Does it?**

* * *

**Chapter 16: What was; what is; what will be**

Tony sits, nervously, in the car. Ever-so-often, he glances over at the woman buckled in next to him, her mouth tightened into a determined grimace as she negotiates the traffic. He eases his hands quietly onto the sides of the seat, his knuckles white. And he thought Ziva was a bad driver – Jackie doesn't even seem to know where her indicator is.

His right foot pushes down hard on his imaginary break as a gasp of air whooshes out of his lungs. Glancing over at him, Jackie's mouth relaxes, a hearty chuckle escaping from her lips. "Well, I never, Anthony DiNozzo. I didn't take you for the nervous type."

He gulps, takes a deep breath, tries to keep his morning coffee from creeping back up his throat.

"Aaghhh, if it's all the same to you Mrs Vance, I would like to make it back to my daughter in one piece, and perhaps even... alive?"

She grins at him again, a flash of white teeth, the car swerving slightly as she does. Tony isn't quite sure if he should smile back, or just keep quiet. Jackie Vance can be rather intimidating, and, if he is to admit the truth, a little on the frightening side.

He decides to err on the side of caution, chooses instead to slink back into his seat.

Nodding in satisfaction, Jackie focuses back on the road, muttering lightly under her breath as she narrowly misses a bus that seems to pull out of nowhere.

A few minutes later, she pulls into the hospital parking lot.

It's with shaky legs that Tony climbs out of the car, and, head down, follows Jackie into the tiny coffee shop opposite the hospital entrance.

He slides into the faded, worn booth near the back, scratches his fingernail over the table's grooves, not really listening as Jackie takes control.

She waves over the blonde waitress, glances quickly at the menu and orders for them both.

They sit, each lost in their own thoughts, as he continues to stare at the pock-marked table. He wonders how many families, loved-ones, friends have sat at this very spot – celebrating good news, or mourning bad. How many people have looked across at the open hospital doors – too scared to go in and face what they surely knew was there. How many people have sat, late into the night, coffee cold in front of them, as they discuss their options – life and death decisions, made right here.

He looks up wordlessly, as the blonde waitress sashays up to their table, plonking down freshly squeezed orange juice, hot filter coffee, fresh cut fruit, eggs and bacon with the trimmings in front of him; apple pie and coffee for Jackie.

She bends, a little lower than necessary, flashes her Hollywood smile and cleavage, before oozing away again.

Once Tony would have leered, lasciviously licked his lips. Now, he gives a small nod of thanks, turns to stare out of the window, at the hospital, where, somewhere inside Ziva still lies, refusing to wake up.

"People always try too hard, say the things they think they ought to say… but, it doesn't always help does it?" Jackie's quiet, thoughtful voice drags Tony back. "The decision: Life. Death. In your hands. Doesn't seem fair, does it?"

He looks at her questioning.

"Spent many an hour here, in this very booth," she adds, as a way of explanation.

She points to Tony's plate with her fork, gestures for him to eat. "You probably haven't had a decent meal in a while, have you?" Not waiting for a reply, she digs deep into the crumbling pie. Mmmmmhmmm, best pie in town…"

She watches him put away a few mouthfuls, washing it down with the orange was hungrier than he realised. Still chewing, he asks the question hanging between them: "What happened?" his voice garbled around the egg and toast.

"Didn't your mama ever teach you not to talk while you eating?" she asks him exasperated. He stops, mid-chew… tale-tale red creeping up his neck and along his face. Ducks his head, shakes it slowly.

Sighing, she realises her mistake. This broken man grown from a broken boy. She reaches his hand, still clasping his fork. Squeezes it.

"Three years ago. My brother…" She takes a deep breath, the pain still raw, her eyes redden at the memory. "My baby brother. So young. Shouldn't have been here at all. But, he was."

Gestures for him to continue eating. He does. Listening intently as he chews.

"Josiah… how he hated that name. Preferred to be called Joe. Anyway, Joe was 19. First year studying. Wanted to be a doctor. Could have as well, you know. Had the brains, and the heart…" She drifts off, memories washing over her.

Tony sips his coffee. Watches. Waits.

Jackie shakes her head lightly, dislodges the thoughts, takes a bite of her pie, chews, swallows. A mouthful of coffee follows. Composed again, continues.

"Wrong place, wrong time really. Had just finished playing a game of basketball with this bunch of kids he used to coach. Was walking back to his dorm when he saw a girl, a fellow student, being attacked by three guys. They had her on the ground, roughed her up, had ripped her panties. One on each side, holding her spread eagled, a third, had his pants down by his knees. Joe didn't think twice. Went in all arms and legs and yelling. Caused enough of a commotion that they let her go, turned to him instead. The girl managed to escape, ran screaming for campus security. But by the time they came back, Joe was on the ground, bleeding, broken. He never did wake…"

The tears slip, drip, down her face. This time, it is Tony's hand that reaches out for hers. Their eyes meet – for the first time properly. Anguish mirroring anguish.

"They said he had limited brain activity. That even if he did wake, he would never be the boy he was meant to be. It was… I was…" She falters.

"You had to make the decision, didn't you? You were the one that had to flick the switch?" Tony asks, comprehension flooding him as he continues to stare into her eyes.

She nods, once. "Hardest decision I ever made, choosing whether he would live or die. But the difference, Anthony, is that Josiah was ready to die. I may not have been ready to let him go. But, he was."

She smiles, her eyes shining. "He wanted to save lives by becoming a doctor; he still managed his dream. His organs were all viable. His death meant that others had a second chance. And, I think he would have liked that."

Tony drops his gaze towards the table, the remnants of his meal as congealed on his plate as they are currently in his stomach. He swallows hard… "Are you saying… are you saying that I should let go? Let her go?"

She looks at him evenly: "Isn't that what you have already done?"

Tony pushes himself out of the booth, stares down her down defiantly, leans forward, his hands clutching the edge of the table, shaking with rage: "She is still there. Her heart beats strong. The doctors say her brain is fine, that there is no reason why she shouldn't wake up. She is a mother. She is my wife. And you want me to end all of that, take all of that away. I can't. I won't. If she wants to die. It will be on her own terms. Not mine."

He stops to take a breath, looks at her confused as she stands, throws her hands up in the air and pulls him towards her. Kissing his cheek, she whispers in his ear: "Exactly. So, what are you doing baby boy? Why have you stopped fighting for her? Why have you given up?"

He sinks back into the booth; she sits down next to him, her strong arms around him. He burrows his head into her neck, like a small child seeking solace in a mother's arms. Brokenly whispers: "Because she has given up on me."

Rubbing his back, she allows him to finally soak in the grief that has been clutching at his edges. Silently, Jackie acknowledges the waitress, a red-head, slighter older this time, with kind, knowing eyes, who puts down two fresh coffees and a stack of serviettes.

The two women share a look, an imperceptible nod, as Daisy (so her chest says), leaves them once again to their solitude.

She waits until he is ready to continue, and he does. Shares how he kept hanging on, holding on to what he had hoped would one day be reality. That no matter what, or who, came between them, that he and Ziva were end-game. That she was his partner, his soul mate and that they would find their way back to each other. That when she had returned to him, broken and damaged, he had hoped, wished, thought… he could be strong enough for her, for their child; flesh of his or not. That he would be the best father and husband that he could possibly be. That his ninja, with her determination and tenacity and spirit would return to them…him… That as long as she and he were still married, there was still hope…

He pulls the crumpled divorce papers from inside his jacket pocket. Hands them to Jackie. "This is the reason I have given up."

She opens the pages, flattens them out on the table. Reads them quickly, looks up at him, eyes wide.

"Don't you see? I am the reason that she isn't waking up. She doesn't want me around." Tony pulls the fresh cup of coffee towards him, continues: "While we are still married, even if just on paper, I am able to protect both Ziva and Xena. And now… I stand to lose both her, and my daughter. And, I don't think I am strong enough for either."

Jackie sips her own cup thoughtfully. Carefully speaks: "Ziva is a clever woman. One who protects those she loves. One who will give her life, if necessary. Do you not think… is it possible… she was protecting you and the team?"

She rushes on before Tony can interject: "Think about it, Anthony – she knew Rivkin was off the reserve. That he was acting on his own, and that he needed to be pulled in. She probably knew at that her father would call her back to Mossad, and that she would have to leave."

Tony stares back at her, realising two things. Firstly, Vance knows more than he lets on and shares a hell of a lot of that with his wife. Secondly, that while Ziva has already given up on him, and even if she were to wake, they would not have a happy-ever-after; he cannot give up on her. He is being selfish. He owes it to his little girl to ensure that he does everything he can to bring her mother back to her. And, while he may not be able to wake up Ziva, perhaps there is someone else who can. He owes it to Ziva. He owes it to Xena.

He smiles at Jackie, and realising that she has gotten through to him, she smiles back.

"You good?" she asks him, waving the waitress over for the bill.

He nods.

"Right, then let's head back – I think four hours with those kiddies running around has been sufficient time for the Director to rethink his stance on your daycare idea don't you?" She chuckles loudly. And Tony cannot help but join in.


	17. Chapter 17 To the Edge & Back Again

**Disclaimer: Don't own them... only my own imagination.**

* * *

**Chapter 17: To the edge and back again**

It's early evening, the sun gently kissing the day goodbye, tendrils of light stretching over Gibb's manicured backyard. The oppressive silence that usually clings, replaced instead with peals of laughter that echo and bounce over the covered porch. It's been a surprisingly sunny day, despite the chill.

Tilting the wooden swing, Abby swings her stocking-clad legs wildly, leaning in towards Stacey, who wipes the tears from her eyes with the corner of her jacket sleeve.

"And then … and then …" Abby tries to continue, snorting unladylike in the process. "… the director sat down, but one of the twins had somehow managed to leopard-crawl past Cynthia, and had decorated his leather chair with finger paint. When he stood up, he had red, blue and yellow smeared all over his pants."

Stacey clutches Abby's arm, sniggering. She has met Vance a couple of times; once at the hospital by Ziva's bedside, the second when she popped past the office to pick up Xena on her afternoon off. She can picture the scene perfectly - Vance with his manners, neatly pressed paints and starched white shirt … newly redesigned by four-year-old twin girls. "But … but ..." chokes out Abby. "That's not the funny part…"

Tony, sitting in the old wooden rocker (also handcrafted by Gibbs, no doubt) gently presses his lips to covered head of his snoozing daughter lying prone on his chest in her fluffy white snowsuit – tiny arms and legs splayed out in complete relaxation.

Ziva would love this, he can't help but think. She would approve of this woman who has infused herself into their life. She would approve of the way she laughs with Abby, the way she chats so intently with McGee, the way she has managed to crack through the frozen heart of Gibbs – the man too afraid to let himself love again.

Xena snuffles in her sleep. Tony gentle rubs her back. Funny how the one with the most secrets, the most walls built so firmly around her, is the one to thank for this current setting. He only wishes that she could her here to see the family she has brought together.

Turning his attention away from the still-laughing women, he looks over at Gibbs and McGee standing out in the cold grilling steaks on the barbeque, quietly bickering over the correct method – McGee (of course) relying on science, muttering something about taking the wind factor into consideration, while Gibbs, swigging his beer, prefers his gut to know when the meat is done. No surprises there…

Xena stirs, whimpers. He shifts her to his shoulder, cups her bottom, is just about to stand. A swirl of black and red already in front of him, her arms stretched out. "I'll change her, Stacey has already gone to warm up the bottle. Come on little girl," Abby enthuses, barely taking a breath. And before Tony can blink, he is talking to her retreating back.

Stretching, he grabs a beer out of the cooler and makes his way over to the men, who are still quietly arguing over the meat. McGee looks up as Tony claps him on the back, "Just wanted to say thanks for what you did yesterday. Put your neck on the line, could have gone either way, really. One of which would have seen someone else sitting at your desk and you demoted to the evidence locker. Seems to have worked, though. Vance had a signed agreement for the daycare on my desk before we left today. They are going to start working on the building Monday."

McGee smiles, nods, no ego comes into play. "Yeah, well, did it for Xena. Can't have the kid learning to crawl in Abby's lab or Ducky's morgue – she will end up in therapy for years."

Tony hurrumphs, mutters: "With me as a father, and the role-models she has … Kid's going to need therapy."

"Think you doing okay in that regard," Gibbs nods over to where Abby and Stacy have wrapped themselves and Xena in an old quilt, the baby warmly secured, greedily suckling her bottle.

"She would be proud of you, you know? Ain't easy what you are doing." Gibbs lifts the meat off the grill onto the waiting platter. Picks it up and starts making his way into the house. "Know that I'm sure as hell proud of you son," he utters so quietly, so low, that Tony is sure it is a figment of his fatigue-induced imagination.

He looks over at McGee whose furrowed brow matches his own. "Did he… did you hear… what did he just say?" Tony stutters, for once, completely lost for words.

* * *

They sit in silence. The two men staring into the dying embers of the fire Gibbs had lit shortly after they had come in for dinner. McGee had taken Abby, yawning, protesting, home. Stacey had long since excused herself and gone to bed – she's on the early shift in the morning.

Tony looks down at the baby lying comfortably in his arms. Her dark eyes drowsy after her 10pm feed, milk residual clinging to her pursed lip. He shifts, clears his throat.

"Ahhh, Gibbs. Mind watching her for a couple of hours? Something I've got to do," he says.

Gibbs nods. Doesn't ask where Tony is going so late, doesn't need to. Cribs there waiting in the spare room. Got your key?"

Tony nods an affirmative and stands, kisses his daughter's soft brown downy head, places her in Gibbs' waiting arms.

"No rush, we'll be fine, won't we?" Gibbs adds quietly, softly, lovingly to the little girl now nestled in his arms.

Tony stands at the door, stuffing his arms into his jacket, tying on his scarf. He can't help but to turn and take one last look at the gruff marine sitting in the glow of the fireplace, with the sleeping baby tucked into his arms. Who would have thought it? Still shaking his head, he quietly opens the door, slips out into the cold, his hands jammed deep into his pockets.

* * *

The hospital ward is quiet as his shoes squeak against the freshly cleaned floor. He pauses at the nurses' station, hands over the hot chocolate and box of donuts he picked up at the all-night store a block down from the hospital. James, a tall, brooding man, with wire-framed glasses and huge muscular arms is the nurse on duty. (Tony often thought he would be better suited manning the front entrance of a nightclub – it takes a man strong in his masculinity, to pull off the peach scrubs James is currently sporting. Then, again, Tony thinks –not for the first time - with arms that size, nobody is going to be commenting, at least… not to his face.) James, puts down his book – _Syndrome_by Thomas Hoover (Tony notices ... seriously, seriously ...isn't that a bit clichéd? )

James peers at Tony over the top of his glasses. He gulps, feeling a bit like a naughty school child being brought into the principal's office, shifts from foot to foot as James continuous to look at him, his dark eyes disapproving, disappointed: "Took your time, didn't you."

Tony swallows, hard. "Stacey has been keeping me updated at to Ziva's progress. Or lack thereof… Thought it better, thought maybe that she would…" he sighs, every excuse sags, snags on his lips.

James continues to stare at him… Tony can hear the gentle ticking of the clock in the hallway. He shifts his weight again, stares down at the freshly cleaned floor, before meeting James's eyes again.

"So, are you going to show me photos of that baby, or just stare into my eyes all night?" James's face cracks into a grin. He stands, comes around the counter, claps him on the back as Tony pulls his phone out, flicking through the images that have taken up residence in his phone's memory the last few weeks. James nods slowly, his attention focused on a shot of the sleeping baby, "looks like her mom." He acknowledges room behind them. "You can go in."

Tony nods, smiles sadly, pockets his phone: "Got her mom's eyes, too." Slips quietly into the room.

Ziva is lying, her back slightly propped up, her arms folded neatly. Tony stands to the side. Her body has healed remarkably while she has been…sleeping. The scars still visible, but not as puckered, as red, as vicious as they once were. Faint bruises line her now thin arms, a testament to the human pincushion she has become. Pipes and wires sticking out of her, connecting her to machines, that beep and buzz. Her cheekbones and collarbone jut out sharply, her skin sallow. He picks up the small, delicate hand, lifts the limp wrist and sits on the bed – just looking at her. Hard to believe that these fragile, insubstantial limbs were once tools of destruction – that she could take down a grown man within seconds.

Still holding her hand, he leans forward, his lips almost kissing her ear, his breath hot against her cool skin: "I know you are still in there somewhere, Ziva, the woman I once knew. You have defied science and logic. The doctors thought that you would give up, that your body, your heart, would give up; that all you were holding on for was the birth of your child. But, yet again, you defy the norm, what is expected of you. They don't know you like I do, and I know that you are not ready to go."

He slips off the bed – digs in his jacket pocket, pulls out a framed photo of Xena, places on the cabinet: "I need you to wake up, Ziva, not for me, you have made that perfectly clear. For your daughter. She needs a mother. She needs you. It's time to fight, Ziva. You need to fight."

* * *

It's after midnight by the time Tony eases through the front door of Gibbs' home. Hangs his jacket, kicks off his wet shoes and in his socked feet makes his way into the spare room. Using the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he checks on the baby who snuffles, shifts in her sleep.

"I promised I would protect you, that I would do what was best for you. I promised I would love you…" he whispers, leaning his arms on the side of the crib, resting his head. "And sometimes the ultimate price of that love is sacrifice. If it means that we get your mom back, if it means that we find out that I am not biologically your father, then so be it. Know this, my little one, you will always be my daughter, I will always be your dad, and for as long as you need me, I will be in your life – biology be damned. But…" he chokes out, "This is something I have to do, for your mother… for you… no matter what the cost is to me. It's the price I am willing to pay."


	18. Chapter 18 Out of the darkness?

**A/N: So, it took a few months to get this one out… The characters weren't playing like they should. **

**Chapter 18: Out of the darkness? **

Tony hovers, trepidation seeping out of every pore. He clutches the tiny body to his chest, her breath hot on the skin of his neck. Xena coos, purses her lips, smacks them together. Quiet, content. She doesn't know what is expected of her; she is too young to understand the importance. Tony halts, falters in his step; this time, he will go into the room. This time... instead he keeps moving, walking. Perhaps a quick cup of canteen coffee and then, and then… he will go in. He's made a decision. He gives himself a self-satisfied nod; happy with his pep talk. He marches more purposefully towards the lift that will take him down to the hospital canteen. And away from her.

Stacey stands in the shadows, watching, waiting. Sighing she pulls her phone out of her pocket, quickly texts a message. Looks like Tony will need a little support, a little nudge with this one.

The shadow falls over courtyard table. Tony peers up, squints into the late afternoon sunlight, sees Gibbs framed there. Sniggers slightly at the glowing halo around his head. Trick of the light and the sun, but fitting none the less. The man has always been Ziva's guardian angel. Gibbs rests his hands, palms down on the table, leans forward. "So, you gonna sit here all afternoon?"

Not waiting for a response, he looks over to where Xena is lying in her stroller, fast asleep. "I know that it's not the great coffee that has kept you here for the past four hours," he mutters. Sits in the empty chair next to the stroller, pulls the blanket up a little more snuggly as the baby shifts, turns, grunts.

"How did you…" Tony begins, stuttering slightly…

"Stacey" they both utter, slightly different intonations. "She was worried about you," Gibbs says gruffly. "Saw you wearing a new groove outside of Ziver's room and thought that you may want…need… support."

Tony smiles faintly. Perhaps it is time, after all.

* * *

Gibbs stands just outside the door, gently shoves Tony forward, as he starts to back out again. "Xena is going to wake any minute now, and she is going to be hungry and need a diaper change… perhaps we come back later… or tomorrow…" Gibbs shakes his head. Gently nudges Tony forward again. "You know what you want to do, what you have got to do. Now is as good as time as any…"

"But…"

Gibbs gives the back of his head a light swipe. "Stop your whining and get on with it."

Tony has now moved to the side of Ziva's bed, stares down at his sleeping wife. "What if this doesn't work?" He whispers brokenly. "This is my last hope, Gibbs. What if she doesn't wake up? What then?"

Gibbs looks him direct in the eye: "Then we think of something else, son. She hasn't left us yet, has she? She's still in there somewhere. She just needs a little nudge."

With a watery smile, Tony gently places the still sleeping baby on Ziva's chest. "Now what?" he asks, a staggering breath.

Gibbs pulls out two chairs, placing them either side of Ziva – at arms' reach if Xena should wake.

"Now, we wait."

* * *

Ziva still doesn't know where or what she is, for that matter. Suspended. Somewhere between here and there. In limbo. Doesn't know how to describe this state she is in… Floating? Sinking? Flying? Drowning? Occasionally sounds, voices filter through to her muddled subconscious, and at those times she feels safe, content, loved. Other times she feels abandoned, cold, alone and it's those times she wants to retreat further into her clouds, into the nothingness that envelopes her.

There was a time, that she didn't know how, or why, but she needed to push through the mist, the confusion that clutches onto her, that keeps pulling her back down into the depths. She needed to fight, to stay strong. There was something she needed to protect, to keep safe. But then, there was nothing. That anchor, that desperate need to keep pushing through the endless nothingness - Was. Just. Gone.

But now, she feels a weight. A heaviness – not uncomfortable, but familiar. A thread, tenuous at that, that is calling, pulling her forward, out of the comforting clouds, the nothingness that she has padded herself in. Her own version of Utopia - where she doesn't need to feel anything. Because feelings hurt. People hurt. Words hurt Love…hurts.

Emotions. Who needs them, anyway? She did a pretty fine job locking everything away. When your father uses you as a tool, a machine, a soldier, it's easy to believe that is all you are. All you deserve to be.

But then, this band of misfits edged under the shield she had so carefully constructed around herself, chipping, cracking away with each joke, each tender look, each loving touch. She became part of a unit, a team, a family.

She opened up. She fell in love. For all the good that did her. Because. Feeling hurt. People hurt. Words hurt. Love…hurts.

So, she would rather stay here, in this comfortable state of nothingness, in this utopia of darkness. Simply floating.

But, something is tugging her away from this. She is irritated by this intrusion. This force that pulls her out of the darkness, through the swirling clouds of nothing and towards that she has, for so long, fought against. She doesn't want to go back. To see the disappointment in their eyes, to see the hurt and anger in his… She wants to stay right where she is, thank you very much.

* * *

From her position on her mother's chest, Xena stirs, shifts, jams her hand in her mouth, sucks loudly on her fist, frustrated she starts mewling softly. Tony continues to stare at Ziva's face. The same expression he has had since they walked into Ziva's room; his gaze never wavering. He is seemingly ignoring his daughter who is getting progressively loudly as her frustration peaks. Shaking his head, Gibbs stands, makes to pick up the now angry baby. Tony shoots his arm out: "Wait". Gibbs looks at him, his brow furrowed. Tony gestures towards Ziva. "Watch Ziva's face. Her expression. It's very slight, but it's there. Watch."

Gibbs watches, thinks that perhaps Tony's desperation has won out, wonders if Stacey can help him with this one. Then, he sees it too. A slight flicker of annoyance that ghosts across Ziva's face. The same expression he has seen on her, when Tony has been irritating her, flicking her pony tail or flipping her cap off her head. Another time, another life.

The mewling sound catches on the edges of Ziva's dormant subconscious. Continues to pull her forward even as she clutches, claws onto the darkness, the nothingness, the emptiness that falls away from beneath her as she hurtles forward.

Ziva's eyes flicker open. At Tony's nod, Gibbs lifts the now extremely angry baby onto his shoulder, soothes her, pats her gently on her bottom as she quietens, hiccups. He moves towards the doorway, to where Stacey is waiting, her arms out for the hungry baby.

Ziva darts her tongue out of her mouth, licks her dry lips, her eyes still bleary, now darken, harden. Tony leans forward as she tries to formulate the words that stumble out of her mouth, her voice raspy: "Go away," she spits out. "Why couldn't you have just left me alone. Why couldn't you just let me die? I hate you for bringing me back. I…Hate…You…"


End file.
